


Feathers are Meant for the Sky

by antisocialgod



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Blood, Bruises, Explicit Language, F/F, FTL AU, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Abuse, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:58:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antisocialgod/pseuds/antisocialgod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s 18 - not yet an adult, but no longer just a silly-minded teenager - and visiting the Dark Kingdom is about more than just rebellion or new discoveries; it’s about feeling like she belongs in a place and yet being terribly confused that she’s not supposed to feel like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i'm a phoenix in the water

**Author's Note:**

> So, I failed.
> 
> I really, really wanted to post this in time for the Big Bang, but in order to do so, it's not as great as I imagine it can be once I finally manage to finish it and edit it and tie up all the loose ends. But then again, for me to do that, it'll probably take a couple more sequels to this. Which is why I'm considering making it a series. We shall see. Until then, I'll try my best to finish posting this work this week and then we'll see where that goes.
> 
> If you're reading this and are actually looking forward to an ending, I really really appreciate it!
> 
> And last, but most definitely not least: thank you [Laura (aka lrbcn)](http://lrbcn.tumblr.com), for the amazing, AMAZING artwork. I'll never get over how perfect it is.
> 
>   
>    
> 

Her first memory dates back to when she was four years old.

The details are fuzzy and she can’t recall what exactly happened, but the memory of her mother’s expression would be forever ingrained in her mind from that moment on. It was like those summer storms she hated so much as a kid, when the beautiful and clear sky would suddenly turn dark and unforgiving, bringing days upon days of misery that just seemed endless for a child who wanted nothing more than to play outside.

Not once in her life had her mother ever directed that sort of look at her.

Even after she grew up, she was never able to fully remember what happened that day. She focused and focused, her eyes rolling backwards in concentration, but all her brain could come up with were dolls scattered around the floor, her mother sitting next to her, the words ‘evil’ and ‘not happy’ escaping from her unsuspecting four-year-old lips.

“Emma,” her mother’s voice was serious, and never having heard it like that before, her head immediately snapped to find green eyes focused intently on her. “Don’t say words like that.”

Sometimes, she doesn’t know if the confusion brought by the memory reflects her own confusion back then or the haziness of the events, but she could tell that something made her mother’s face soften and her arms to extend, cradling Emma safely in her arms.

“Mommy is going to tell you a story, okay?” there’s another shift in her mother’s voice, becoming distant, empty and something her four year old self just couldn’t quite put her finger on. Years later, she would find out it sounded a lot like longing. “It’s the story of The Evil Queen…”

It seemed appropriate that the sky would choose that time to go dark, thunders cracking outside in what would later become a pattern of sorts; The Evil Queen always did bring unexpected changes to Emma’s life.


	2. a fish that's learned to fly

"Princess!” the voice echoes within the sturdy rock walls and Emma grins as she fastens her pace. The sound of her leather boots hitting the stones underneath her feet is a welcome sound against the eeriness of the room in which she was supposed to be taking her sewing classes.

The footsteps behind her come closer and Emma moves faster again, not even daring to glance behind, knowing full well that she’ll find at least half a dozen guards running after her. “Princess Emma! The Queen has ordered you not to run in the castle!”

That’s true. She remembers her mother’s face very well as she spoke to the guards, telling them that in no circumstance should the Princess be allowed to run freely inside castle walls, and if she should try to do so, the guards were to stop her immediately.

Emma, at the age of 13, didn’t really understand why she couldn’t run inside the castle. Ever since she was a little girl, her mother had always been worried about her safety - to the point of obsession, really. Charming, her father, was always more lenient regarding that. Or, well, regarding everything, really. It had always been far easier to charm her father into letting her do something than it was to convince Snow White. In her mother’s eyes, even going to the village could be dangerous and she would not put her daughter at risk, not to mention the entire lineage that Emma had the responsibility of carrying after her parents were gone.

She would be Queen someday and Snow White would not allow any harm to come to her.

But, well, Emma never really cared too much about her mother’s orders.

It’s not about being rebellious or insubordinate. She knows very well that, as the Princess of the realm, she should be setting an example. And it’s somewhat of a frustration of hers, the fact that she just can’t be what her mother wants her to be. She’s Princess Emma of the White Kingdom, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, the greatest rulers the kingdom had ever seen.

And she’s a mess.

She hates sewing, she can’t cook to save her life and the thought of sidesaddle riding makes no sense whatsoever in her mind. She’s not a lady, she’s well aware of that. She likes to run, to fight, get dirty in the mud. She loves pants and hates dresses and simply can’t figure out why anyone would ever want to wear a corset. She doesn’t have much to show yet - and she’s starting to wonder if maybe those sword practices didn’t damage anything? - but already the thought of having to slip into one of those things makes her close to tears.

So, Emma has accepted that she will never be the little lady her mother wishes she were. And though it already feels like a failure - even if she’s only 13 - it’s a testament to how much her mother truly loves her, that Snow White has never gazed at her with so much as an ounce of disappointment in her eyes.

She’s brash, sometimes full of herself - in a way that’s unbecoming for a princess - and her moral compass often leads her towards grey areas rather than the black and white her parents seem to live by, but they still love her unconditionally.

And maybe that’s why Emma knows that she’ll get away with running inside castle walls. Maybe she takes her parents’ love for granted, in that way a person who has never known anything else tends to do. Emma doesn’t know what it’s like not to have parents, people who want her no matter what and would never do anything to hurt her. That true, unbreakable bond, is all she’s ever been surrounded by and it simply makes no sense in her mind that the opposite could be possible.

That someone, out there, has parents that don’t know how to love unconditionally, like hers do.

“Princess Emma!” the voice echoes again, this time more distant, and Emma knows that she’s out of the woods.

Or, well, almost into them, really.

It’s a bright autumn morning and as she leaves the castle walls through a passageway that she found when she was a little girl. Emma can see the sea of leaves that have fallen to the ground and go up to her mid-calf, her boots crushing them as she runs out of view and into the forest.

She really, really shouldn’t be doing that. The east side of the castle is the one closest to the road that leads to the village and the other cities beyond - and, consequently, the most dangerous road for a Princess to be caught wandering. There’s no telling the kind of people that go through that road - from simple markers and traders to thieves and mercenaries, those of which would be more than glad to offer her head on a plate to her parents’ enemies.

And though Emma is well aware that there are plenty of those outside the castle walls, she still can’t stop her feet from moving one after the other, into the woods and the trees that grow taller and closer, leaving the light behind her and soon enveloping her in darkness.

She should be afraid. Most kids her age would, especially with the knowledge that if anything were to happen to her, her mother and father would be sick with worry. And they’d probably ground her as well. Lifetime in a tower, like those stories she heard when she was younger. And she knows for a fact that they’re true; often times she’s seen Rapunzel wandering the castle during their celebrations, looking lost and confused, and Emma is smart enough to know that at least some trauma has resulted from all those years of loneliness.

If there’s one thing Emma can’t bear, is the thought of being lonely.

And yet, even as these fears nag in her mind, she finds herself walking further and further from the castle, the longest distance she’s ever breached in all of the times she’s escaped from the walls. There’s just something about the darkness that calls to her, the explicit contrast from the endless torches and bright rooms that make her home. It’s different in a way she can’t explain, but in the darkness, Emma finds… freedom.

She can clearly picture her mother’s expression if she were ever to hear these thoughts.

As she walks, Emma takes in the scenario around her. It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light, but once they did, everything became clear as day. She can see the roots sticking out of the ground, the branches that come close to her head and the fallen trees on the ground. It’s dangerous, beyond that, even, but she can’t put into words the thrill she feels while walking in a place like that. She can’t even bring herself to care about the noises that her footsteps make.

It’s all her bravado, though, because as soon as there’s a movement to her right, she freezes in place, hands flying to her mouth as she tries to keep her breathing concealed.

The silence takes over for a few seconds and her eyes are quick to surveil the area, but only when the noise comes again, does she see a small animal moving through the leaves. She can’t see what exactly it is - maybe a rat, or a squirrel? - but the animal seems to be measuring her as well, trying to decide if the Princess poses as a threat.

“Hello?” she asks. She feels a bit stupid, but she heard tales that the animals in the Enchanted Forest can talk and maybe this one can. It’s a long shot, but she figures it’s worth a try. Her 13 year-old self is bursting with excitement at the thought that she might actually speak to an animal. Her friends would never believe it.

As it is, the creature only stares at her for a couple more minutes, before taking off again, hopping twice - it’s a rabbit, she belatedly realizes - and then disappearing in thin air mid the third hop.

Emma blinks. Once, twice, three times. The rabbit is gone, the crushed leaves on the floor the only sign that it was ever there and Emma is not going crazy.

Despite her many shortcomings (and maybe it’s not so normal for a teenager to be so self-aware, but she just is), Emma knows that curiosity is her fatal flaw. There’s just no way that she’ll see a rabbit disappearing in front of her and pay no mind to it. It’s because she’s curious that she knows all the different ways in and out of the castle, the strategies her father favors in battles, her mother’s hidden collection of bows and arrows or even the fact that her parents can’t have any more children and they plan to marry her off to a nice prince when she’s 18.

She’s not supposed to know those things. Some of them, not yet, and others, not ever. But she does, because she’s always been curious and she’s always found herself in places where she’s not supposed to be in the most (in)opportune of times.

It is a given, of course, that she follows the rabbit.

Picking up a rock, Emma looks around, making sure that she’s alone, before tossing it towards the place where the animal disappeared just minutes before. There’s a glistening - as if the rock hit some kind of barrier, and then it vanishes. Gone. No more.

Before she can give much thought to it, Emma closes her eyes and jumps, thinking that she might as well just get it over with or go home. And the latter is not an option.

When she opens her eyes, the pleasant autumn chill has been replaced by the cold winter wind and, as she pulls her clothes closer to her body in an attempt to keep some warmth in, the bells start to ring in her mind, trying to tell her something she can’t quite fully comprehend.

“You insufferable idiot,” she hears, the voice cold and devoid of emotion. For a moment, she thinks someone found her, but as she glances around, she realizes that she’s - fortunately - hidden by the trees and the voice belongs to someone in the clearing that opens up in front of her.

The woman has her back to Emma, but the Princess can tell that she’s a sight to behold, even from her unfavoring position. She’s isn’t tall, the Princess is quick to notice, but little details make it look like that; the woman is wearing heels and Emma is 13 and rather short for her age, and the way the stranger is holding herself makes her look twice her height, which is fairly impressive in and off itself. Her dress is black and her hairdo, in some way, makes her hair go both up and down without making her look ridiculous.

Emma wants more than anything to see the woman’s face, but the chill that ran down her spine at the voice she first heard at the clearing leaves her rooted in place, not even daring to blink at the scene unfolding before her.

“Your majesty--” one of the men kneeled in front of the woman says, his voice trembling in fear and his head hung so low that Emma thinks his nose might be touching the ground. He is in the front of nearly half a dozen other men, all dressed in some weird version of the clothes and armor her own palace guards wear. When she hears the title, however, she snaps her attention back to the woman, stifling a gasp.

It couldn’t be.

“Don’t,” the woman snaps again. “I gave you and your band of merry men one simple task, soldier. One. And what do I get? Failure. Well, my dear, I can assure you that I’m not interested in that.”

If it weren’t for the way her voice carries, the words might even been nice. But even at the age of 13, Emma knows that something bad is about to happen to those men, who dared to fail the orders from that woman. That only proves to be true when, with one flick of her hand, the woman sends the soldiers spiralling against the trees.

Emma has known about magic her entire life. She even knows she has some of her own - again, curiosity took the best of her and she overhead the fairies talking about it. And even though she’s aware of that, she’s never been exposed to such display of sheer magical strength and it takes everything in stubborn self not to make a sound.

While she’s focused on keeping quiet, the woman moves again, walking around the edge of the clearing and taking in her damage. It’s only later that Emma will realize the stranger was simply making sure her soldiers were dead, before making them disappear in purple smoke with another flick of her wrist.

But at that moment, all she could focus on was the face of the woman who was finally on display for her. And words could not explain her shock at what she was seeing.

Emma’s mother wasn’t old, but she wasn’t young anymore either. Snow White would soon be 33 in the next winter solstice and she knew, from the endless tales she heard as a toddler, that when her mother met The Evil Queen - Regina, her mother would fiercely say, the longing ever so present in her voice - she was at least 8 years younger than the woman.

So how was it possible that now, over twenty years later, that Regina looked at least ten years younger than her mother? How was it possible that she seemingly hadn’t aged at all? Magic was the logical answer, of course, but if Emma herself were to choose never to age, she wouldn’t do so as barely an adult at all. It was impressive that The Evil Queen managed to be as imposing as she was, spreading fear across the realm and inspiring tales upon tales of her immeasurable power and cruelty, when, in fact, she barely looked 21 years old.

She stares at the place where she’s first seen Regina’s face long before the older woman is gone, and it’s only when the temperature drops below bearable points that she snaps out of her thoughts, her feet beginning to answer to her brain again.

When that finally happens, she does the one thing she excels at: she runs.

\---

It takes three days before she’s back at the clearing.

It’s empty, as expected, but that doesn’t stop her. Wrapped in her warmest winter clothes, Emma is quick to make her way out of the woods. The castle, looming as big and imponent as her family’s own castle is hard to miss, even if it weren’t for the fact that she’s standing a mere hundred feet away from it.

Growing up inside a war room - even if her parents weren’t aware of it - helped Emma quickly pick up on the geography of their realm. For that reason, she knows that the Evil Queen’s castle is on the opposite extreme from her parents castle - at least a month on horseback and endless traps and protection spells put the two fortresses apart, which, given the history between the two Queens, is only understandable.

It’s also because of that knowledge, that Emma knows that the passageway in the forest is not normal. And that neither her mother nor the Evil Queen are aware that it exists, for if they did, it would have surely already ended in armies walking through it and destruction wrecking havoc.

As it stands, for some unknown reason, Emma seems to be the only one aware of the gap that bridges the two castles, the connection that brings such different worlds together and could mean the end of the entire realm if it were to be discovered. Were she the girl her mother raised her to be - good, above all else - Emma would have run to the fairies and told them about the fissure. But she’s curious, and she’s selfish, and she just can’t bring herself to lose that glimpse of another life, dangerous as it might be.

As the years go by, Emma keeps the portal to herself. Autumn rolls into winter, and she’s still visiting the Evil Queen’s realm, each day going further and further into a land that she’s not welcome. She doesn’t care. When spring comes and she sees the orchards that surround the castle, she’s amazed that a woman like Regina - pure evil, as her mother claims - can be responsible for a land that looks more beautiful than the one her parents rule upon.

During summer, she notices that there are people going about their business on the village and they seem… happy. They never seem to notice her, but Emma notices them, and she notices how they seem genuinely nice and friendly, not even paying attention as the Queen’s guards walk by - sometimes even trading pleasantries with them.

When it’s winter again, and the weather is as unforgiving as ever, the people still seem warm and the land still seem to prosper.

The peace between the two Queens is fleeting, Emma knows, but for the next five years of her life, she finds herself endangering that peace just so that she can get a glimpse at the life that’s so different but so similar to the one she leads.

Sometimes, she sees the Evil Queen. There are times when she’s on the clearing again, punishing her soldiers or giving them orders. Her voice never wavers and her posture never changes, but as the years go by, Emma finds herself becoming familiar with the little details on the other woman. The way her mouth presses together when she’s annoyed, or the way her eyes tend to widen slightly when she’s amused by something but won’t let it show.

She learns that the Queen likes apples, but is also fond of berries. One day, at the age of 15, Emma is hidden next to the market, she overhears the townspeople talking about how the Queen tends to her own garden in the spring and that what’s not consumed by the palace, is left to be traded for things that her kingdom needs.

What surprises her the most, is to find out that the Evil Queen has a father. It’s only one year after she discovered the portal in the woods that she sees them together, walking out of the castle, not a single guard in sight. She sees the way the Queen huddles close to the smaller figure and that day, when she gets home, she can’t help but asking her mother about it.

“Yes, she has a father,” is her mother’s reply. Her eyes glaze for a second, as they often do when talking about the Evil Queen, but Snow just shakes her head and gives her a smile that’s tinged with sadness. “But she doesn’t love him, sweetheart. She’s not capable of loving.”

And Emma never said anything, but even back then, she disagreed with her mother.

She knew that the Evil Queen could love. She’d seen it.

Why couldn’t others?


	3. and i've always been a daughter

The knock on her door wakes her up, “Princess Emma?”

“Come in, Gretta!” She yells, rubbing her eyes as she tries to gather her bearings. To her side, the door creaks and her handmaiden walks in, a gentle smile on her lips. She bows, and Emma waves her hand - as she’s done million times and with millions of other servants. She has no patience for the formalities anymore than she has for sewing and playing the piano.

Gretta gives her a sheepish smile,“The Queen has sent for you, Your Highness.”

Groaning, Emma lets her head fall back and pulls a pillow over her face, “Why? It’s barely the crack of dawn. Are you sure she didn’t mean she wants me to join her for breakfast? I’m not always missing them, but you know how she is.”

“I made sure to ask that, Your Highness,” Gretta says as she moves to retrieve Emma’s clothes, “And she told me that I was to fetch you now and not a second later.”

Pulling the pillow from her face, Emma stares at the moving figure that is her handmaiden, eyes widening ever so slightly, “Did she use these exact words?”

Gretta nods.

She jumps out of the bed, “Shit, Gretta.”

“Princess Emma!” The other woman’s scandalized squeak reaches Emma’s ears, but she’s already too busy moving for her clothes to do much more than to send Gretta an apologetic smile.

“Something’s happened. She never summons me, Gretta, you know that. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Her sleeping garments fly off her body and soon she’s slipping into formal clothes. She wears corsets at times like these, the dreaded piece of clothing pressing tightly against her ribcages and her (small, but clearly there) breasts. She still can’t bring herself to wear dresses unless it’s absolutely required, so the pants are next, accompanied by one of her long coats that drag on the floor but are open on the front, and still leave plenty of room for her legs to move. When the clothes are done, they move to the boots - leather, of course - and then, finally, her hair being pulled tightly into a ponytail. Gretta wanted a bun, but the Princess would have none of it.

When they’re done, Emma takes off running.

“No running in the castle, Princess!” The servant calls after her, but Emma just grins to herself and ignore the older woman’s pleas.

As she runs, a thousand thoughts go through her mind as to why her mother would be summoning her. Emma is honest enough to admit that more often than not her the Queen has to send a servant to make sure that she shows up for breakfast, but it’s more to make sure that they have their meals as a family and not some obligation. A summons is a totally different matter, especially one when the sun has barely shown up in the sky.

She knows something is wrong and she doesn’t want to acknowledge the little voice in her brain that tells her that maybe her mother found out her biggest secret and now her whole world is crumbling down. If that’s the case, there’s no telling what the future has in store for her. She would be arrested, no doubt about that. Accused of treason. Maybe even executed.

Maybe her parents would do something about it. Maybe they’d just destroy the Evil Queen and let Emma live with a lesser punishment. For some reason she can’t fathom, the thought of her parents executing the Evil Queen hurts more than any punishment she can think for herself, even death included.

By the time she reaches the throne room, her hair is disheveled and her clothes are out of place. She knows she shouldn’t have ran, but rational thought had left the window at the news of her mother’s summons and she simply couldn’t afford to waste the time it would take to walk from her personal chambers to the place where her mother wanted to meet.

Her teeth find her lip, biting it ever-so-slightly as she glances around, trying to determine if she’s alone. “Fuck it,” she decides and with deep breath and a flick her hand, her hair and clothes are back in place.

Being the product of true love, as it turns out, has its perks. For a long time, Emma’s known about her magic abilities and for an even longer time, she had absolutely no idea of how to use them. She could feel it burning within herself, just like a second skin, simmering beneath her flesh and waiting to come out. But she had no idea how to let it out, didn’t even know where to start.

It took days upon days hiding herself when the fairies met, studying their movements and the way their magic seemed to work and endless nights spent reading books that she wasn’t supposed to know about, some of which she was sure her mother had banished from the kingdom.

She was far from being a professional, but she could make do with simple spells and even some moderate ones. It was tiresome, though, and dangerous if her parents were to find out, so she kept it to herself and tried her best to conceal it, even as she tried to get better at it.

The thought of magic brings her mind back to the Evil Queen, and before she can think twice about it, Emma pushes the doors and enters the throne room, immediately finding her parents as they stand close to the window, huddled together.

It’s summer and her birthday is in less than three months. The preparations are going on full force and they’re nearly driving her insane. She likes parties as much as the next person, but royal celebrations are all about image and less so about actually celebrating her, and Emma can’t bring herself to care about that. She’d much rather have dinner with her parents, a nice barrel of wine and plenty of food. But she’s the Princess and she’ll be turning 18 and a small dinner party is just not acceptable.

No, they need Kings and Queens, Princes and Princesses. All of their parents allies and their royal parties, not to mention the entire population of their realm. She can appreciate that her parents at least respected her wishes on that. She would never accept such a celebration if her people were only allowed to work and not party as well. Her mother agreed, like the great Queen that she was. If they were celebrating, then so should their people.

It seemed that her birthday was all the people in the realm could talk about, and it had just dawned on her that maybe her mother summons had absolutely nothing to do with the Evil Queen and everything to do with Emma’s upcoming birthday celebrations.

Emma immediately released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and made her way to her parents. “Mom, Dad.” She said, moving to hug them and kiss both of their cheeks.

The smile that takes over her mother’s face is enough to let Emma know that there will be no talk about the Evil Queen on that day. “Oh, Emma!” Her mother exclaims, hand moving to her heart. It seems a bit dramatic, but Emma doesn’t mention it. “I’m sorry for sending Gretta after you so early, but I just couldn’t wait any longer. We’ve received the greatest news this morning and couldn’t wait to share with you.”

Her father nods and the smile on his lips tugs at something on Emma’s heart. There’s something about the way that her father loves her that she can’t quite put into words. She has no doubt of her mother’s love, but the way her father looks at her… It’s no wonder she’s Daddy’s girl. She knows that for him, it makes no difference that she’s not a boy, even if that would be the ideal for their kingdom. In that moment, it sinks on her how truly grateful she is for having parents like hers, so inherently good and ready to do whatever is best for her.

And, as her father moves to cup her cheek, smile still in place, she knows that even as she tries to do whatever is in her power to make them proud, she’ll never be able to. It breaks her heart, but at that moment, Emma knows that failure is all that she has in store for them.

“When you were younger,” James begins, letting his hand drop from her cheek to find its home around her mother’s waist. “Your mother and I thought it’d be a good idea to use your eighteenth birthday as an opportunity to find you a suitable husband.”

Oh no.

“We figured that since Kings and Queens from the entire land will be present, it should be easy for you to find someone to your liking,” her mother finishes, her smile widening even more. “We don’t want you to feel pressured, of course, and we have no wish of forcing you to marry someone you don’t like. We, better than anyone, know the meaning of true love. And we want you to find that as well, Emma. It’s all we’ve always wanted for you.”

“I--” Emma starts, but the words die at her throat before she can push them out. What is she supposed to say to the fact that her parents are finally playing matchmaker?

Her mother, optimistic as always, mistakes Emma’s lack of words for excitement and claps her hands together, giggling in a way that it just seems wrong for a woman in her late thirties. “Plenty of the guests should be arriving about a month or so before the wedding, we just got the word from a few of them. That will give you more than enough time to get acquainted. Oh, Emma, it’ll be perfect, you’ll see! I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a nice husband.”

And before she can stop herself, the words tumble out of Emma’s mouth, “And what if I can’t?”

Unsurprisingly, her parents are both shocked by the question. It’s not in their genes to be anything less than extremely optimistic, but maybe one generation was skipped, because Emma just can’t bring herself to believe that this plan of theirs will work.

With a sigh, she moves towards the window, watching as the castle’s servants walk in and out of the gates, bringing anything and everything from weapons to food. The sun is slowly but surely taking over the skies, and the sunlight casts a shadow upon the village, creating a beautiful palette of colors that only nature can create. And yet, as she gazes down at the land that it will once be hers to rule, all she can think is that it pales in comparison to how the Ev-- Regina’s land lights up during summer, the gardens and plantations taking on colors that she never imagined possible.

That thought - fleeting as it is - it’s enough to bring back her earlier musings; she knows she’ll disappoint her parents, and it seems like her fate is already catching up to her.

But maybe, just maybe, she can keep up the façade for a little while longer, which is why she takes a deep breath, and turns around to face her parents with a smile on her lips. “I’m sorry,” she breathes out, looking down at the floor in a perfect show of shyness and bashfulness. When she looks up again, she can see that her parents are breathing again. It shouldn’t be that easy to placate them, but she knows her act is good. She’s a Charming, after all. The pun is very intended in such situations. “I just… I know what a great chance this is, and I’m just afraid that I’ll--” ‘Screw it up’, she finishes in her mind, but doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, she tries to find something nicer, “that I won’t be good enough.”

When her mother’s face falls, she knows it was the wrong thing to say. “Emma--”

“Mom,” she interrupts, with a headshake and a bitter smile. “We all know that I’m not like the other Princesses of our realm. They’re poised and polite, and I’m always running and driving everyone insane. What kind of person would want to marry me?”

“Come here, kid,” her father calls, extending his arms and immediately enveloping her in an embrace. “I think the question here is, what kind of person wouldn’t want to marry you? You’re so true to yourself and so selfless. You made sure we invited the entire village for your birthday celebration, Emma. Have you heard of those other Princesses doing that? What does it matter if you hate sewing and that you might poison us if you try to cook? Being a Princess is about more than dances and dinners. It’s about putting the needs of your people first, it’s about knowing what’s right and what’s wrong when things get difficult.”

At her father’s words, the knife just sinks deeper into her heart, but Emma keeps her behavior in check, biting her lip to keep them from trembling, hoping that the tears that are quickly gathering in her eyes won’t make their way down her cheeks.

When she pulls back, her mother is there to cup her cheeks, bringing their foreheads together, “You’ll be the most amazing Queen this kingdom has ever had, sweetheart. I have no doubt whatsoever about that.”

That’s enough to bring a real smile to Emma’s lips, but she still argues, “I doubt that I’ll ever be as great a Queen as you are, Mom.”

Snow’s eyes are shimmering with tears when she pulls back, but she makes no movement to brush them off. Instead, she lets her hands fall from Emma’s cheeks to grab her her hands, squeezing them tightly. “You’re our little Princess, baby. We’ll love you no matter what.”

“Even if I start the biggest war this kingdom has ever seen?” Emma teases, her smile turning into a full-blown grin.

Charming laughs, and Snow is quick to hit his arms, rolling her eyes at her husband in a way that Emma knows it’s nothing but loving. “Well, you are your father’s daughter, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to fight someone just for the excitement of it.”

It’s a testament to her father’s well-grooming that he doesn’t snort at Snow’s words. Instead, he only says, “Of course, dear. Let’s not talk about the giant Evil elephant in the room and the war I’m raging against it.”

His words are light-hearted - Emma knows well enough that he thinks Snow should just wave the white flag and be done with this stupid battle of wills - but even so, they’re enough to wipe the smile off Emma’s face. It’s surprising that the same doesn’t happen with her mother, who just shrugs her shoulders and wraps her arms around her husband, giving him a soft kiss.

“I have to keep our lives interesting, sweetheart,” she says, before pressing her lips against Charming’s in a kiss that lasts longer than the last.

Emma knows her parents, knows that often times they lose track of where they are and who they’re with - she has seen them do this for nearly eighteen years - and Emma has enough nasty images in her mind to rest for her remaining days on this land, so she knows when it’s time to leave them to their own devices.

Quickly making her exit, she doesn’t even realize where her feet are taking her, too lost in her thoughts to pay attention to her surroundings. Every word she told her parents is true; she has absolutely no confidence whatsoever that she’ll be a good Queen, let alone a great one, as her mother seems to so fiercely believe.

And it’s not because Emma lacks confidence in herself. It isn’t, really. She’s overly-confident about plenty of things in her life, including - but not limited to - the fact that she can beat her own father at swordplay, or that she’s always been able to outrun any of her classmates, and, you know, she can make magic. There’s also the fact that, even if she doesn’t care too much about it, she’s still far prettier than most of the Princess in the realm; her beauty is only dimmed by the shining of the dresses the others tend to wear and that she abhors, but that’s not here nor there.

The fact is, Emma thinks she’s pretty awesome and the fact that she has the coolest parents and they also happen to be the greatest Queen and King of the realm also helps. They don’t always see eye-to-eye - point in case: their recent discussion - but when it comes down to it, she knows plenty of suitors would be lining up to take her hand in marriage. But she doubts that she’d could just look at someone and think, ‘That’s my true love’. And what if she chooses someone and they end up being a terrible husband? And an even worse King? She knows enough about herself to know that she’s going to screw this up, so the least she can do is find someone that will help her out when she does.

The worst thing about the entire situation is that she feels she has no one to talk to. Yeah, her parents are great and all, but they have a one-track mind when it comes to Emma's future. She's almost eighteen, but they're still convinced that all her past mistakes were only the results of a child acting like a child. They don't hold her responsible for burning the unused stable on the south side of the castle, or disappearing without letting anyone know and having the entire kingdom out on a search party, looking for her.

She has great parents. She truly, really does. But their blind faith in her greatness is more of a burden than a blessing. What started as the fear of letting her mother know that she couldn't sew something without it ripping apart only a few days later, became the fear of letting Snow know that once she stepped down and Emma was crowned, the whole kingdom would most likely be doomed.

The thoughts are not foreign to her. They always plague her mind after a meeting with her parents, and whenever they do, she always ends up in the same place. It's almost instinctual by now. She's so lost inside her own mind that she doesn't even notice that the soft smell of flowers during spring isn't flooding her senses anymore. Instead, a breeze is blowing against her hair and she’s shivering slightly because of the autumn weather that suddenly hit her.

She can tell - by the way that most of the leaves are still on the trees - that the season hasn't fully set in yet. She's been visiting this land for over five years, and it still amazes her how different it is from her home.

And this time, is even more different.

She sees the other woman standing in the middle of the clearing as soon as she steps out of the portal. Like five years before, the Evil Queen has her back to Emma, but this time, she has no guards kneeling before her. And her father is nowhere to be seen, either. There's something unusual about the way she's just standing there, as if waiting for something.

Or someone, Emma realizes a little too late.

"I was wondering when you'd show up again," the Queen speaks, still not turning to face Emma.

She could run. As a matter of fact, she should run. She'd walked a bit far from the portal, but not enough that the Queen would have any chance of catching her before she made it back to her land. There were only two problems with that plan; one - what if the Queen followed her? She's done plenty of stupid things in her life, but that would take the cake for sure. She'd put her entire kingdom in danger and, no matter how likely she is to do that in the future, anyway, she'd like to avoid it as much as she can. And, second - and most terrifying of all - she doesn't want to run.

Emma’s always known she wouldn’t live up to fulfill her parents expectations of her future. It’s always been there, nagging in the back of her mind, but she’s never done anything to purposefully disappoint them. But, at that moment, in that clearing, with the wind howling against her hair and the Evil Queen standing in front of her, the only thing she can think is, ‘Screw it’. It’s a dangerous path, one that most certainly won’t end in redemption, and yet, she can’t make her feet move; can’t walk away from this life-changing moment. It’s her life, she reasons - her choices and her mistakes.

Except, it’s not really a choice. Not at that moment. Maybe 5 years before, when she decided to enter the portal. Or maybe in the following years, as she kept coming back, delving further and further into the Evil Queen’s kingdom. No, at that moment, Emma finally realizes, it’s just about accepting that this is the way she wants her life to be and that she’ll deal with whatever consequences might result from her actions. She might be a lot of things - reckless, impulsive and, (in her own opinion) often times selfish - but she’s always had enough moral standing to take responsibility for her actions.

So, when she says, “How did you know I was here?” she accepts that she might very well be ruining her entire life and the lives of those who depend on her. When the words leave her lips, she doesn’t know what’s bigger; her self-loathing, for what she’s just chosen to do, or her excitement (?) that, for once in her almost-18 years, she’s deciding the course of her own life.

The silence in the clearing drags for minutes that seem endless to Emma, and it’s not long before she starts thinking that the Evil Queen might not answer her at all. Maybe she’ll just disappear in a cloud of purple smoke - maybe she’s not even there at all, to begin with. Or maybe, - she swallows dryly, dropping her head and taking a deep breath - maybe she’s just going to kill Emma with a snap of her wrist and be done with it.

When she raises her head, she’s shocked beyond recognition to see the other woman staring at her, her head slightly tilted to the side and her powerful gaze fixed on Emma’s figure. She looks the same she’s looked for the last five years - most definitely not a teenager, but not yet an adult either. Her face reflects a youthness that doesn’t quite match the way her forehead is wrinkled and her lips are pressed so tightly against one another that Emma can barely see the woman behind the mask of the Evil Queen. It’s only because she’s seen Regina in her unguarded moments, that she knows the mask is even there at all.

“Magic,” the Evil Queen says, her lips barely moving at all. Her voice is less commanding than on the other times Emma has heard it, but no less intimidating. “Leaves a trail, my dear. White magic, nonetheless. The stench has been floating all over my kingdom.”

The only coherent thought running through Emma’s mind is, ‘Oh, shit.’ and it must reflect on her face, because the Evil Queen’s lips turn into a smirk. “I’m guessing you didn’t know that, did you, dear?”

“Don’t call me that,” Emma snaps, her words leaving her lips before her mind has the time to register them. It’s probably unwise to piss off the Evil Queen, but- well, she’s never claimed to be a rational person.

Instead of being annoyed, however, the Queen’s gaze is intrigued, her eyebrows raising in a barely noticeable manner.

“And what, pray tell, should I call you?” there’s a pause, and then, “Who are you?”

Once again, Emma’s words are out of her lips before she can stop them, “You mean you don’t know?”

At that, the Evil Queen seems taken aback. ‘Well, score.’ Emma 1, Regina 0.

It’s then, and only then, that Regina seems to take the time to actually look at Emma. They’re standing a mere few feet apart, matching stances as they size each other up. It goes on for a few minutes, and when the Evil Queen finally realizes who she is, - she has her mother’s eyes and that annoying chin, it’s not that hard to guess - the recognition plays on her face, clear as day, for Emma to see. The brunette’s posture stiffens and her hands curl into fists, the smirk on her lips turning into a scowl. From her side, Emma watches as a flicker of confusion passes on the Queen’s eyes, and then darkness, before finally setting on hatred.

Yeah, maybe she should’ve fled when she had the chance.

“You fool,” the Evil Queen spatters, and this time, her voice carries the same tone that usually does when she’s punishing her soldiers, except it sounds a thousand times worse when it’s directed towards her. “I could kill you right now. As a matter of fact, I will. And your precious, dear Snow White, will have nothing but your lifeless body to cling to. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll turn you into dust and she won’t even have that.”

And Emma wants to laugh. It’s probably suicidal and maybe even a side-effect of the crippling fear that’s running up her spine, but she truly and really just feels like throwing her head back and laughing.

“Okay, lady, you’re crazy,” she says, biting her lip in an effort to - you know - not end up a pile of ash on the ground. “You’re not gonna kill me.”

And the way the Evil Queen’s hands suddenly turn into a fist makes her think that Regina might kill her, but she doesn’t let her fear show. It’s been said that some people thrive on making others cower in fear, and if that’s the case with Regina - which it might as well be, because, you know, evil - Emma won’t be the one giving her the satisfaction of make her squirm.

Instead, she lifts up her chin and stares at the Queen. Her eyes meet Regina’s powerful gaze, but she doesn’t dare to even blink, which seems to surprise the other woman. It’s barely a flash, though, and it’s long gone before Emma can even hope to make something of it.

“You sound awfully confident, dear,” the Queen says, and the way her lips curve into a smirk combined with the use of the abhorred pet name, is infuriating to Emma. “For someone who might as well be a corpse.”

She rolls her eyes, “Do you ever talk that much to the people you plan on killing?”

“I feel it’s only fair to let them know why they’re being killed and I’m afraid that it takes a while to relay the message, sometimes.” the Queen replies in the most neutral tone, and if it weren’t for the barely-there twitch of her lips, Emma would think she was being serious.

She doesn’t know which is more startling; the notion that the Queen actually liked to talk her enemies to death or that she might be joking about it.

“I didn’t know Evil Queens cracked jokes,” tilting her head to the side, she narrows her eyes a bit at the woman standing in front of her.

At that, Regina lets out a bark of laughter, and it startles Emma how genuine it sounds. “Oh, and pray tell, how many Evil Queens have you met in your life?”

Emma bites her lip in thought, before shrugging, “Touché.” A pause. “Then again, I’m not sure I believe the whole Evil crap people say about you.”

This time, the surprise is clear as day on the Queen’s face. “Oh?”

It makes her feel surprisingly good that she’s managed to render the Evil Queen speechless, so Emma lets her shoulders relax, a small grin taking over her lips. She’s confident that if Regina has planned to kill her at some point, the idea is the farthest thing from her mind at this moment. 

“Yeah, you know,” she shrugs. “You have a pretty awesome kingdom for a lady who the rest of the land thinks is evil incarnated. And I’ve seen how you treat your people, they don’t seem pissed at you. I mean, maybe those soldiers you killed would disagree with me, but I think you had a good reason to do that, so I’m not judging.”

At that, the Queen seems to snap out of her shock.

“You’re not judging?” she repeats, the words a mix of disbelief and amusement. She takes a step closer to Emma, her expression focused, as if she’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “You’re not Snow White’s daughter, are you?”

Emma snorts, “Oh, I’m most definitely my mother’s daughter. I mean--Snow White’s daughter.” There’s a moment when the words linger in the air, and then she’s shaking her head. As she continues, there’s a frown on her lips and her eyebrows are furrowed together. “Which is probably not wise to confirm, since you’re her sworn enemy and all that.”

“So what you’re telling me,” the Queen says, moving even closer to her. The action makes red flags go up in the Princess head, but the warnings fall on deaf ears as she remains rooted to her spot. “Is that Snow White’s precious baby thinks the Evil Queen isn’t Evil at all? You do realize your beloved parents would most likely drop dead if they ever heard your words, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but--” Emma’s demeanor suddenly changes, the little bit of confidence she acquired from the knowledge that the Queen wasn’t gonna kill her completely vanishing. It’s one thing for her to know her parents would be disappointed from her behavior, but another thing entirely to have someone - the Evil Queen herself, no less - pointing that out.

With a laugh, Regina presses her hands together, her chin coming to rest on top of them, the position entirely girly in a way that Emma thinks doesn’t suit the Queen at all. Her eyes are glinting, and when she speaks, her voice sounds unusually pleased. “Oh my, that’s delightful!”

“It’s kinda shitty, actually.” Emma says, a frown on her face. “But I’m right, aren’t I?”

“What about, Princess?”

“I mean,” the blonde says, ignoring the way Regina all but spits out her title. “I’m right when I say that you’re not evil. My mother has convinced our Kingdom that you are, and for some reason, you seem all too happy to let that belief spread across the land, even if it’s a lie.”

“It’s not a lie.” 

A little known fact about Emma is that - besides her magic - she has a superpower. It took her a while to make sense of it, but sometimes when people would talk to her, she’d hear this weird buzzing sound in her head and it’d sometimes go louder or lower, depending on how much people kept on talking about a particular subject. After various experiments - most of which were shamelessly conducted on her parents - Emma found out that she could tell when people lied to her. It was a pretty neat trick, if sometimes a bit hurtful, but she quickly learned to measure the extent of the lies depending on the volume of the buzzing.

And at that moment, Regina’s words made her nearly flinch at the noise that exploded in her head.

“You know, lady, that’s such bullshit.” Wincing at her own words, she gazes at the Queen, a sheepish smile on her lips. “I’m-- I didn’t-- Well, actually, I did mean that, but maybe I could’ve put it in a better manner. So I apologize for my words, but not for what I meant with them.”

It probably isn’t the right thing to say, but considering she’s been sticking her feet into her mouth for almost the entire duration of this conversation (not to mention, you know, her entire life), she can’t really do anything about it. And hey, if a murderous glint flashes on the Queen’s eyes before the other woman is able to school her features into nonchalance again, Emma decides it’s probably wise not to point it out and just accept the small favors the universe is willing to offer.

The clearing is silent around them and Emma’s mind is quick to travel to all the times she’s visited Regina’s kingdom. Would she ever be able to do it again, now that her presence had been uncovered? Would she get to sneak around the village, listening to the light and cheerful laughter that spilled from the lips of the people in a dark kingdom? Most importantly, would she live to watch the Queen taking a walk with her father, the orchard around them, the world all but forgotten? Would she get to experience those moments again, or would she be completely gone? At that thought - at the pressure in her chest - she couldn’t decide what was worse; Regina ending her existence completely, or condemning her to a life filled with nothing but memories of a land that she’d never again see?

Her entire conversation with the Evil Queen- with Regina - had shifted her entire world on its axis - finally completing the change that started five years before, on the moment she decided to follow a rabbit through a magical portal. Back then, she’d been a child, high on the discovery of magic and foreign places - so different from the life she led at the White Kingdom. But now, she’s no longer a child. She’s 18 - not yet an adult, but no longer just a silly-minded teenager - and visiting the Dark Kingdom is about more than just rebellion or new discoveries; it’s about feeling like she belongs in a place and yet being terribly confused that she’s not supposed to feel like this. It’s about finally making a decision between what she wants to be and what’s expected of her.

It’s about being brave enough to make her own destiny.

And that, Emma thinks, is scary as hell.

“I don’t know what to make of you.”

Regina’s voice is barely a whisper, but in the silence that surrounds them, it might as well have been a scream.

Emma’s gaze quickly snaps back to the woman in front of her, “I’m sorry?”

“You’re a puzzle,” the Queen breathes out. As if to prove her point, her eyebrows move together, and Emma is momentarily taken aback by how weird it is to see the expression on Regina’s face, but also how well it fits there. The silence hangs around them for a few seconds longer, and then the brunette shakes out of her revelrie and focuses on Emma again. “You’re a Charming, but you’re absolutely nothing like your parents. Your mother has always had a penchant for getting on my nerves, but even she knew when to flee and spare her life. And yet,” she gestured towards Emma, sighing softly. “Here you stand. I’ve threatened to kill you and you didn’t so much as take a step back. You’re not afraid of me and that’s… I really can’t figure you out.”

The blonde Princess stared at the Evil Queen for a while, and then her lips broke in a grin, “So you’re not gonna kill me?”

To Emma’s surprise, Regina threw her head back in a laugh, “No, I don’t suppose I will. You intrigue me, and I’d be terribly disappointed to lose that before I’ve had the chance to figure you out, Princess.”

“Cool,” was all the Princess had to say. There was a low buzzing in her head at Regina’s flimsy excuse for letting her live, but she wasn’t about to point that out. Instead, she lifted her hand and pointed her thumb behind her shoulder, chewing her lower lip. “So, I gotta go now. But if you’re not gonna kill me, maybe I could come back tomorrow? And this time I won’t hide around your Kingdom and maybe you can, you know, not change your mind about letting me live?”

“I believe you’re safe for the time being, if you so wish to come back,” Regina says, and she sounds incredibly amused by the way the words tend to tumble out of Emma’s mouth, without any thought whatsoever. It’s a second before the Princess words catch up to her, however, and when they do, Regina raises narrow her eyes in suspicion. “Wait. How are you leaving? I’m fairly confident that even with your magic, you wouldn’t be able to teleport out of my lands. My-- she faltered for a moment, “my wards won’t allow you to do that. And the journey back to the White Kingdom by any means other than magic would take at least a month.”

Biting her lip, Emma glances around as she shifts from foot to foot, trying to decide the best course of action. Finally, she decides it’s better to be safe than sorry. She’s already risking enough as it is and it’s one thing to have so little care about her life, but she’s not about to endanger an entire kingdom as a consequence of her lack of head-to-mouth filter. “Then I’m glad I didn’t do that. Teletransport, I mean. But,” she drags the word, a playful smile on her lips. “I’m not telling you how I got here. I’m sure you can understand why.”

Emma’s smile only widens as Regina tips her head in a nod of acceptance, letting out a sigh that she think it’s meant solely as a dramatic gesture, before motioning in the general area of the woods behind the Princess.

“Very well, go along then. I am positive I don’t want you dead, but I still haven’t really made up my mind about torturing you for a greater purpose. So you’d be smart to take your leave while you can.”

If the little twitch on the brunette’s lips is any indication, the Queen is - yet again - playing with her, but before she can find out how much is a joke and how much isn’t, Emma makes the decision to leave.

She takes a few steps backwards, her gaze never leaving Regina’s, all but challenging the woman to follow her. For her part, however, the other woman just rolls her eyes and disappears on a cloud of purple smoke, the powerful smell of apples and cinnamon still around the clearing even after the last remains of the woman and her magic are long gone.

It’s only that night, when Emma is back at the Palace, safely nested in her bed, that she remembers why she even ran to the Dark Kingdom in the first place. And when she thinks back to all the events of her day, she decides that a potential marriage in the nearby future might just be the least of her worries.


	4. but feathers are meant for the sky

“Wow,” is the first thing that comes out of her friend’s mouth as she enters the kitchens the next day, having - predictably - skipped out on breakfast in favor of sleeping a couple hours longer. “You smell weird.”

“What the-- It was but five minutes ago that I was taking a bath!”

Despite her words, the blonde still lifts her clothes and her hair, sniffing them and trying to find what’s wrong with her smell. She doesn’t notice anything different, but then again, she’s not the werewolf in the room. Even so, she also checks her boots (better make sure, right?), before finally giving up.

By the time she does, Ruby’s laughter has her nearly rolling on the floor.

“I didn’t mean bad,” the brunette says, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Just weird.”

Emma narrows her eyes at her, “And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?”

“Earth, spice and something sweeter… Like sugar, but not really. That’s how you usually smell.” Ruby explains, but it doesn’t do anything to lessen the Princess’ confusion. With a sigh, she continues, “Everyone has a different smell, I’ve told you that before. Well, today you smell weird. I mean, your scent is there, but there’s also this crazy perfume of apples and-- something else I can’t place, that it’s just… sticking to you. And you’re dragging it everywhere, it’s kinda nauseating, to be honest.”

Apples. And something else. ‘Probably cinnamon,” Emma thinks to herself.

Oh. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” the brunette agrees, pushing a plate of food towards Emma. “So, you’re gonna tell me what’s up with that?”

Emma’s first thought is that she could. Ruby was Snow’s best-friend, yes, but she was also one her best-friends. Often times she shared things with the werewolf that her mother couldn’t dream about and not once had they reached Snow’s ears. But that moment wasn’t about trusting Ruby. Even if she hadn’t been talking about the Evil Queen, her friend would never believe that Emma was exhaling someone else’s scent just by being in the same place as them. And even so, she was talking about the Evil Queen, and maybe there was only so far Ruby was willing to go in her loyalty to Emma. She wasn’t quite yet ready to test those boundaries.

“I was down by the apple orchards this morning,” she lies, taking a bite of her food and not meeting Ruby’s gaze. “They’ve yet to bloom, but the smell is crazy. I’m surprised you’re not feeling it. Wait, I guess you kinda are.”

A noncommittal noise leaves the brunette’s lips - and it’s almost a growl, but not yet there - and she narrows her eyes at Emma, trying to figure out what’s really happening. A few seconds go by without Emma looking at her, before she lets out a heavy sigh and decides to change the subject.

“How excited are you for your birthday?”

Emma grunts, shoving another spoon of food into her mouth.

Ruby frowns, “That doesn’t sound very promising.” she pokes Emma’s sides and the blonde swats her hand, pushing her plate away with a small sigh. “Hey, talk to me. What’s up?”

“Were you aware that my parents wish to take advantage of my birthday celebrations to find me a suitable husband?”

“They what?”

The Princess nods, going back to her food, and Ruby lets out a low whistle, her hands moving to rest on the table, palms flat against the wood surface. Her eyebrows furrow and she seems deep in thought for a moment. The way her blue eyes flash golden a few times is a bit unsettling to Emma, but she doesn’t comment on it. The full moon is nearing and she knows how volatile Ruby tends to be at times like these.

Maybe telling her about her parents plans wasn’t her best decision.

“I thought Snow was big on the True Love thing?” Ruby asks, once she’s recovered from the shock and has her temper back in check.

Emma sighs, “Well, she is.”

“Then what? Is she just hoping your True Love will walk through the door on your eighteenth birthday?”

“Apparently,” Emma snorts and Ruby has seen the action so much that she’s not even phased by it anymore. “They seem to think a couple months is time enough to find the love of my life.”

“Emma,” Ruby chides, moving a finger beneath the blonde’s chin and gently lifting her face so that she can meet her gaze. “How many times have you heard the tales of how your parents fell in love?”

Emma rolls her eyes, “Enough to be able to tell it backwards and with additional trivia.”

Despite the effort to keep a serious face, Ruby cracks a smile at the young Princess.

“So you ought to know that True Love doesn’t need a time frame. It happens, just like that,” she said, snapping her fingers for good measure. “You need only a second, barely the blink of an eye. And why is that?”

Sighing, the blonde meets Ruby’s gaze before reciting the concept that’s been drilled into her mind for as long as she could remember, “Because True Love is fate. It’s not about meeting someone, it’s about finding them. The other half of your soul, the person who’s meant to complete you.”

“Exactly,” the brunette says, moving her hand from Emma’s chin to the blonde’s own hand and squeezing it lightly. “So if you can’t do it, Emma, I’m sure your parents won’t begrudge you. It’s not something you have a choice on and you shouldn’t have to settle for anything less than what you deserve. I’m sure Snow and Charming are just trying to help you by bringing in all the possible choices. If you think about it, it kinda makes it easier for you.”

A small smile tugs on Emma’s lips, but they don’t reach her eyes. If only it were that simple. The thought of meeting someone and seeing their entire life together is so foreign to her. She grew up around most of the people that will be attending her birthday celebrations and she’s seen the rest of the nobles in many of the trips the Royal family took, and not a single one of them ever sparked anything inside her. If True Love wasn’t a matter of time, but of chance, then why hadn’t it happened yet? The only logical conclusion was that all the efforts her parents were putting into bringing all the potential candidates to her would prove out to be completely useless.

“I guess you’re right,” is what she tells Ruby, though, squeezing back the brunette’s hand. No use in dwelling in matters she can’t change. When the time comes, she will deal with the fact that her parents are going to be sorely disappointed by her lack of fiancée when she turns eighteen. “Thanks, Rubes.”

Ruby pulls back, grinning at her, “You’re welcome, kid. You know I’m here if you need me, right? You don’t have to sulk around the castle, trying to wallow in self-pity.”

Her tone was teasing and Emma rolled her eyes, pushing back from her seat and slapping her friend’s back as she walked by her, “I’ll be sure to remember that whenever I need someone to make fun of me.”

Even if her tone was slightly annoyed, the way she held the Werewolf’s gaze let Ruby know that Emma appreciated what she had done. She didn’t say it, but a weight had been lifted from her shoulders at the realization that she couldn’t force True Love and her parents would never force it on her. She had to be thankful that they believed so hard on that, even if the tales of their endless love had been nice at their best moments and extremely boring at their worst. However it may be, it was still better than being forced to marry someone she didn’t know at all, and at least that was a small blessing.

 

//

 

Half of the day had already passed when Emma finally finds herself able to sneak past the Castle walls, through the forest and into Regina’s kingdom. Her parents expected her help on some matters regarding her birthday and even though she wanted nothing more than to flee at the mere thought of discussing decorations and food with her mother, Emma knew she had obligations that she couldn’t run from. And it kept Snow happy to know that she was involved, so she did her best effort to appear the least bit interested in what was going on.

When she reached the clearing, she was unsurprised to find it empty. Unsurprised, yes, but still disappointed. It was silly to expect the other woman to wait for her; Regina didn’t know when she’d been arriving and it was better that she didn’t know how Emma got in at all. Still, she couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped her lips at her empty surroundings.

Deciding that she might as well make something of her trip, she started to move towards the village. Maybe she could get some fruits from the townspeople, or watch the kids playing in the stream that passed through the land. It didn’t matter how many times she visited, she always found a good way to pass her time. She probably knew Regina’s land better than she knew her own, which was preposterous, considering she’d one day be the ruler of the White Kingdom. But she didn’t feel the pull to explore her lands as she did with this one. Maybe it was because she already knew all there was to know; had seen the maps, had spent hours upon hours studying them.

But, she realized, knowing geography it was different than knowing how her kingdom worked - which road would lead where, and what kind of people lived in each part of her town. She knew that the Dark Kingdom had a fairly uneven distribution in their society; Regina is most definitely the peak of nobility around, but - contrary to her land - it doesn’t seem that the peasants on the Evil Queens land were in need of anything. They had no gold, yes, but they had no starvation either.

In her own mind, Emma decided that if she ever were to rule a kingdom, this is what she would’ve wanted for her people. Not equality - not because she didn’t want it, but because she knew enough to know that the people just needed a ruler. The social structure had to exist, with some people giving orders and some people following them. But even so, she would want those following her rules to at least be taken care of, which it seemed to be the case with the people who lived under Regina’s care.

The irony was not lost on her, but that was only the first of many regarding the abysmal differences between the White and the Dark kingdom.

“Don’t you seem awfully lost in your thoughts,” a voice rang through her ears, successfully bringing her attention back to the present. “Don’t strain yourself, Princess.”

At Regina’s sight, she couldn’t help but smile. The woman was downing her usual black attire, but because of the warm weather, her clothes seemed to be of a lighter material. They shifted from hugging her body to flowing around her, creating an extremely alluring visual that Emma was all too willing to appreciate.

“You’re hilarious, you know?” she said, feeling bolder at the fact that the woman hadn’t killed her on sight.

Perhaps Regina really did mean her words about keeping her alive.

“Oh, I know,” the Queen nodded, smirking at her. “My palace doesn’t even need a jester, that’s how good I am.” 

For some reason, it seems wrong to relate the woman standing in front of her to the one she heard endless tales about when she was growing up. She just can’t grasp it in her mind the concept that someone so cruel as all her history teachers proclaimed the Evil Queen to be, could even know what a joke is, let alone crack them so freely.

This, Emma realizes, is Regina. And all those times she sneaked around the woman’s kingdom, all those glances she stole, this is the only thing she’s seen. Never the Evil Queen. It seemed that behind her wards - both physical and psychological - Regina was a totally different person and even though she’s always had an inkling this was the case, it still felt surreal to experience it firsthand.

“And I assume no one has ever told you the opposite?”

“Don’t you know, Princess?” Regina whispers, leaning closer to her, as if to share a secret. “I’m the Evil Queen. Who would ever tell me the opposite of anything?”

At this, Emma grins, “Oh, I can point you to a couple of people who would waste no opportunity to do so.”

Regina rolls her eyes, falling into step next to her. “Well, yes, I suppose we all need a rock in our shoes to make life more interesting. All the offense to your parents, of course.”

“Offense taken,” Emma nods, pressing her lips together to keep from bursting out at Regina’s antics. It feels nice to have someone to talk so freely to. It’s wrong how comfortable she feel next to the woman who’s made a living hell of her parents lives, but try as she might, Emma just can’t help herself. Regina’s presence is like a breath of fresh air. “How did you find me?”

The Queen glances at her, raising a perfect eyebrow, “I seem to recall telling you that your magic made my kingdom stink.”

“Oh, yeah!” Emma’s eyes widened. “About that. Now my kingdom is stinking, because of you. I had Ruby telling me that I smelled like apples and something more.”

“Ruby?” Regina inquires, apparently choosing that particular tidbit to focus on.

“Red,” the blonde explains, watching as recognition dawns on Regina’s face. “Yeah, the wolf.”

“I’m sure that was a pleasant conversation.” she smirks to herself. “Whatever did you tell her?”

Scratching behind her right ear, Emma glances at the woman beside her, before focusing ahead and giving a small shrug. “That I was down by the apple orchards.”

“And she believed that?”

There’s no need for Emma to glance to her side to know that Regina is rolling her eyes at her.

The blonde shrugs again, kicking a small stone in her path, “She had no reason not to, I suppose.”

Regina lets out a small hum of agreement, but that’s her only response. After that, they fall into a pleasant silence, walking out of the woods and into the village outside the Queen’s palace. Despite being summer in her own kingdom, Emma knows that here, the temperature will soon be dropping and leather will be the new trend of the season. As it is, however, the weather is still warm enough for the people to be out and about, tending to their million different tasks, and, as a result, the village is buzzing with activity when they finally walk out of the woods.

The Queen glances at her, “Aren’t you afraid?”

Emma’s confusion must show up on her face, because Regina continues, “You’re the Princess of the White Kingdom. Aren’t you afraid word will get back to your parents that you’ve been seen out and about with the Evil Queen?”

Logically, Regina knew the chances of that happening were slim to none, but she still wanted to hear what the Princess would say.

“I’m not,” Emma replies, her shoulders going up and down again. “I like to think that this is less dangerous than revealing myself to you.” She pauses, thinking her words through, a flush immediately rising up her neck. “I mean-- that’s not what I meant.”

Regina’s gaze falls heavily on her, her stare so powerful that Emma suddenly feels uncomfortable. It’s as if the other woman is staring into her very soul and that what’s being revealed is much more than what made Emma blush. The thought is unsettling, but at the same time, it makes something tingle inside her and she doesn’t know what to make of it.

Finally, the Queen says, “I know what you meant, Princess. And I suppose you make a fair point.”

Emma nods.

“Besides,” the blonde says, “My parents would never believe I was here. Like you said, it is a 30-day journey.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Regina asks, tumbling back mid-walk as a small boy runs past them, nearly knocking her down.

There it comes, Emma thinks. The moment she’ll finally see the Evil Queen. The moment when all of her fantasies will crumble and she’ll go back to live a life entirely in black and white, much as her parents wish for her.

“I’m--Mo-- My Queen!” the boy squeaks upon recognizing Regina. “I apologize. I wasn’t-- I--”

Biting her lower lip, Emma watches as Regina gazes down at the boy for a second, before dropping eye-level to him. It makes her stomach churn to think that the woman might do something to the kid, and she’s ready to jump in if it comes to that, but to her surprise, Regina merely flicks the boy’s hair out of his face and smiles down at him.

“Henry,” she berates him, but the action lacks the emotion Emma was expecting to find behind it. It isn’t reproachful at all; if anything, it’s caring. “What have I told you?”

The boy - Henry, Emma makes a mental note - presses his brows together as he lifts up a hand, holding three fingers.

“Not to call you Majesty, or Queen, or anything,” he recites, pulling one finger down. “Not to kneel before you,” another finger. “And not to run near the market because I might--”

“Might what, Henry?” Regina encourages, nodding for him to continue.

Henry sighs, scuffing his foot against the ground as he pulls down the last finger, “I might cause an accident. I’m sorry.”

It’s only then that Emma notices how the boy is dressed. He’s playing with other village kids, but his clothes are clearly sturdier and better tailored than the ones of his playmates. The needlework is intricate, and the buttons are made of what she’s 99% sure is silver. The leather on his boots seem to be of fine quality, and if Henry hadn’t been running around in the mud, she was sure they’d be shiningly clean.

And he is, from head to toe, downed in black.

Her eyebrows go up, disappearing into her hair, but before Emma’s mouth can form words, someone beats her to it, “Hey, there!”

“Uh, hi,” she stammers, glancing behind Henry to find Regina’s amused gaze on her. The Queen has a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and that only makes the scene even more confusing on Emma’s mind.

“You’re new here,” Henry points out, turning his face to look at Regina in confirmation. “She is, isn’t her?”

“Isn’t she,” the brunette corrects with a small smile, before meeting Emma’s gaze and nodding. “And indeed she is, honey. But not as new as we imagine, isn’t that right, Princess?”

Before Emma can say anything, Henry’s eyes widen, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “You’re a Princess?”

As the shock of the unexpected meeting starts to wear off, the blonde decides that she can roll with this.

Dropping down on her knee, much like Regina did moments before, she meets Henry’s gaze and smiles at him. “I am,” she nods, leaning closer as her voice drops to a whisper. “But I’m here on a secret mission for the White Kingdom, so no one can know who I truly am.”

If possible, his eyes widen even more, “You’re Princess Emma?!”

She looks up at Regina, raising an eyebrow as if to enquire as to how Henry knows who she is, but the Queen merely shrugs and waves her hand as if telling her to get on with it. Focusing her attention back on the boy in front of her, she doesn’t bother trying to find a way to backtrack from her words. Maybe it’s risky to expose herself like this - kids to tend to run off their mouths - but she has a feeling that she can trust this boy.

And so she does.

“I am. Can I trust you to keep my secret, Henry?”

“You can!” Henry nods his head excitedly, a grin splitting up on his lips. “This is great. What’s the name of your secret mission? You need an operation name. Like Operation Cobra, or something.”

Emma wrinkles her nose, “I’m not particularly fond of snakes.” She tells him, and his face drops for a second, which, in turn, makes Emma’s heart do the same. Quickly, she amends, “Maybe Operation Swan? I love them.”

“Swan?”

“Yes.”

Henry is quiet for a moment, before his grin is back in place. “I guess that’s okay.” he shrugs. “They’re pretty and majestic, and you’re a Princess, so I think it fits.” Nodding to himself, he holds a hand out for Emma, “Operation Swan is a go.”

Laughing, the Princess shakes his hand, “Thank you, Henry.”

Regina, who’s been quiet for the entire exchange, finally makes her presence known again by softly squeezing Henry’s shoulder, diverting his attention from Emma.

When the boy looks up at the Queen, she merely nods to his friends playing nearby, “You can run along. I’ll have a guard fetch you when we’re leaving.”

“Cool,” Henry replies as he takes off running, throwing a hasty “Bye, Emma!” behind his shoulders.

They fall into step once again, and Regina’s gaze follows Henry for a while before the boy weaves through the barracks and disappears from sight. Though the Queen might be by herself, Emma notes, Henry certainly isn’t. The flurry of capes that follow him is hard to miss, as three or four guards also disappear after the boy. They’re keeping their distance, however, and if Emma hadn’t just experienced the meeting with the boy, she’d merely think that the guards were taking a walk through the village, while on their break.

There’s a myriad of questions running through her mind, but she can’t seem to be able to push any of them forth. She’s not dumb, she can put the pieces together on her own, but that doesn’t mean they make any sense. She surely would have heard if the Evil Queen had a son; her mother certainly would have no qualms about going on and on about how unfit Regina would be to take care of a child.

The Queen must notice Emma’s confusion, because after they’ve walked away from the market, she says, “He’s my ward.”

“He is?” the blonde asks quietly, turning her head to look at Regina, who nods as a smile takes over her lips.

“Yes,” exhaling softly, the brunette meets Emma’s gaze. “He came into my care when he was a baby. Someone dropped him off outside the Castle’s gates and one of the guards brought him in. I’ve been raising him ever since.”

“So you have a son.” It’s not a question, but Regina shakes her head anyway.

“He’s not--” she pauses, and Emma realizes that this is the first time she’s seen the Queen looking anything less than completely poised and confident. It makes something tingle inside of her, knowing that the woman is showing her a part of herself that she’s sure not many people are privy to. “He will be inheriting the crown once I’ve died, but he’s not my son. I mean, he is. It’s just… It hasn’t always been easy. It has been getting better lately, yes, but it’s still far from being perfect.”

“What do you mean?”

Regina lets out a barked laugh, her eyes sharpening as they meet Emma’s, “Tell me, Princess,” she says, and her voice not only sounds sad, but also bitter. “Are you always happy with your parents? With their actions, and their decisions?”

“Hell no,” the blonde is quick to answer, rolling her eyes at how stupid the question is. She’s sure that at least a quarter of her life has been spent mad at her parents for one thing or another they’ve done. But still, she doesn’t understand where Regina is going with this. “But what does it have to do with Henry?”

The Queen lets out a soft sigh, gazing forward again, “Well, if your parents, who are, by all accounts, perfect,” the way she says the word makes Emma think that she doesn’t agree with it at all, but she refrains from pointing it out, figuring it won’t do much good at the moment. “have managed to anger you somehow, what do you think it would’ve happened if you’d been raised by an Evil Queen?”

It makes sense, Emma supposes. Except, “You’re not evil.”

“Oh darling,” the Queen sighs, stopping in her tracks and spinning on her heels to face Emma. “Adorable as your misguided notions might be, Princess, I’m afraid that they’ll never amount to more than wishful thinking on your part. I am Evil. I’m responsible for things that would haunt you in your dreams should you ever hear about them.”

Not surprisingly, the Princess is ready to protest. As a matter of fact, she has heard plenty of stories about the evil doings of the woman standing before her but, in her mind, it just doesn’t make any sense. Over the years, Emma struggled to make sense of the unruly thoughts that seemed to plague her mind and went against every little thing her parents had ever told her. And they weren’t solely about the Evil Queen, though the woman was prominent in most of the stories.

But no. What seemed to be the problem, was that Princess Emma simply couldn’t help but take people’s words with a grain of salt. It went from the simplest things, to the more complicated ones. For example, she’s always been aware of the fact that she was a Princess. It’d been ingrained in her mind from even before she was born, the whispered words to her mother’s womb about the kingdom that would one day be hers to rule. It was a fact, pure and simple. And even though Emma knew that, it took a crown and people kneeling before her for her to fully accept that she was the Princess of the White Kingdom.

With Regina, that only took even bigger proportions. So, even though she grew up listening to the awful tales about the Evil Witch that had no mercy and was incapable of loving, her mind never fully accepted that because it wasn’t what Emma could see. Once she’d stepped through the magic portal and saw the little intricacies of the Evil Queen’s kingdom and the woman herself, all the belief that she could be evil - if there ever was one, to begin with - was ripped from the Princess mind without so much as a trace of it being left to tell the tale.

Seeing, as they often say, is believing. And Emma had seen Regina. She’d seen the little twitches of her lips, the way her hands would close into fists when she was trying to keep her composure or even the way her fingers would drum lightly against her thighs as she took a stroll through the village market, as though she wasn’t fully focused on the task, but instead completely lost in thoughts. She’d seen Regina’s hair go from long, to short, to long again (which she actually preferred, though it didn’t really matter), and the seemingly endless collection of red lipsticks that the woman must own, as reflected by the different array of shades that she’s seen on the her lips over the years. She’s seen the smiles, the frowns and the blank stares.

She’s seen Regina ending lives, but just as easily, she’s also seen her creating it.

So when she shakes her head and crosses her arms in defiance, it’s simply because she knows she’s right. Maybe they’re both fools; Emma for her unshakable belief that evil isn’t the word to define Regina, and the brunette for the unshakable belief that no other word could. Maybe they’re both too radical, wanting things to be so black and white, though their lives have never been anything but grey.

Maybe it’s just about accepting that they need to meet in the middle, instead of choosing just one side.

How that will work, however, she has absolutely no idea.

“I’m surprised that my eleven-year old child has better common sense than you,” the Queen sneered. “Then again, you are a Charming, so I suppose you have nothing but poor genetics to blame.”

Despite the jab at her family, Emma laughs at Regina’s words, her earlier turmoil slipping to the back of her mind for the time being.

“Be that as it may,” she concedes, “you still haven’t killed me. So I’m reserving myself the right of believing that you can’t possibly be as evil as you claim to be.”

“I’m not claiming anything,” the brunette protests quickly, but Emma simply waves her off and starts to walk again. With a sigh, Regina follows suit. “Tell, Princess, do you wish to be killed? Because, if you so desire, I could certainly arrange for that to happen.”

Emma rolls her eyes, “I don’t. I’m just trying to understand why you’re so hell-bent on convincing me that you’re evil, yet you won’t take the easiest and most effective way of proving that.”

“You mean by killing you?” Regina scoffs.

“Why, yes. I’d be very convinced of your evilness then, I suppose.”

This time, the queen is the one to roll her eyes at her, “You’d be dead, Princess. I’m afraid your convictions would hardly matter, then.”

“And why am I not?”

When Regina pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a heavy sigh, Emma realizes that maybe she’s pushing the envelope a bit. The Queen’s relaxed posture is slowly but surely becoming more and more stiff as they conversation goes on and though it’s clear that walls are being put in place, the Princess refuses to back down.

“Come on, no bullshit. Either kill me or tell me why you won’t do it.”

They fall silent again, but unlike the beginning of their walk, it’s not pleasant nor comfortable. Regina’s gaze is burning into hers and she can see that the woman is actually very tempted to just kill her and be over with it. It’d probably be easier too; besides Henry and her Henry Sr., Emma has never seen Regina actually letting her walls down with anyone. She’s a loner, and in knowing that, the Princess also knows that no many conversations like this take place in her life. At that moment, the Queen is struggling between protecting herself and going against her own decisions, and neither option is very appealing to her.

Finally, after what it feels like years, she says, “You’re a real nuisance, Princess.”

“And you’re a real piece of work, but we can’t have it all, can we?” Emma is immediately fires back, a smirk tugging on her lips.

“No, I suppose we can’t,” Regina agrees with a soft sigh, biting her lip for a second, before she continues, “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I’m just using you to get to your parents?”

“I don’t think you are,” Emma’s voice is barely a whisper, but it echoes clear between them. “Maybe I’m that naive.”

“You’re not,” the Queen reassures her quickly. It’s a few minutes before she speaks again, seemingly distracted by the people around them. “I won’t kill you. I’m not sure it was a conscious decision, but now I realize that it’s one I can’t change. I wouldn’t be able to kill you now, even I wanted to. For some reason, Princess, you chose to believe that my heart still beats in my chest and I haven’t had anyone doing that in a long time. Maybe I’m… charmed by your naivety.”

The blonde’s lips split in a grin, “I’ll take that.”

It’s not that much of a reassurance, really. Not the words, per se. But the dead silence that echoed in her mind as Regina spoke is all the proof that she needs that the Queen is not lying. Maybe they’re both fools; maybe this is just one huge mistake on both of their parts. Maybe it’ll end up starting a war and costing more than either kingdom is willing to give. But in that moment - with the people bustling around them, going about their days in that market that’s so full of life in a land so plagued by death, they’re both willing to believe it will all work out for the best.

In that moment, they’re content.

“Here,” Regina says, as she picks up an apple from one of the food stands and hands it to Emma (who also notices the Queen exchanging small pleasantries with the villager as she does so). “Try this. It’s from my personal apple orchard.”

Emma takes the fruit, but hesitates bringing it to her lips, “You do know my family has a bad history with apples, right? I mean--”

“You mean I poisoned your mother?”

Shifting from one foot to the other, Emma nods. “Well…”

“Princess,” the other woman begins, exasperation seeping in her tone as she takes a step closer - all but invading Emma’s personal space. “I already told you I’m not willing to kill you.”

In a swift move, her hands are folded around the apple Emma has clutched in her hands, the soft heat of the Queen’s glove burning against the Princess hand. They’re not even touching skin to skin - not with all the fabric that stands in the way - but Emma can already feel the electricity building and the atmosphere shifting around them. It suddenly feels as if the air is somehow bypassing her lungs and breathing is becoming harder and harder as the seconds trickle away.

She’s so completely lost in it, that when her gaze meets Regina’s, she can’t even realize what it’s happening before it’s too late and the apple is falling to the floor as a small crack sounds between them and a spark shoots out from their joined hands, sending a shiver up her arm and down her spine.

“What the--” ‘fuck?’ she finishes in her mind, but the thought never leaves her lips as Regina is suddenly pulling her through the throngs of people.

The prolonged contact does nothing to help with the sparks that are slowly becoming more and more noticeable, glowing a mix of purple and gold around the space where the Queen’s hand is tightly - yet not tightly enough to hurt her - gripping her arm.

When they’ve moved away from the crowd, Emma snaps, “Hey! Quit the manhandling!”

That seems to be enough to shake Regina out of whatever state she was in, and her hand slips from Emma’s arm so fast that the blonde has to blink to make sure they’re still attached to the Queen’s arm and not completely vanished.

“I apologize,” Regina whispers, not meeting her gaze.

“What the hell was that?”

There’s a heavy sigh, and then, “What was what, Princess?”

Crossing her arms, Emma pushes her hand under Regina’s chin and forces the woman’s gaze to meet hers, ignoring - once again - the electricity that shoots out at the barely-there touch.

“I know you’re feeling it too, so cut the crap.”

“That’s magic,” the brunette admits. “However it’s not-- I don’t know why it’s acting like this.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asks, still holding their gazes together.

“As a general rule, like calls to like, Princess.” the words leave Regina’s lips in a shaky breath as she ever-so-gently pushes Emma’s hand away from her face. “But it’s never-- I’ve never seen such effortless display of it. Usually if two magic users wish to do so, they can call up their powers in an effort to perform something that requires more magic than they have on their own- to do something bigger, if you will. But this…”

“This what, Regina?”

At the sound of her name coming from Emma’s lips, the Queen’s eyes widen slightly and her lips smack shut, her breathing faltering for a second. They’re not even touching anymore, but it suddenly seems as if the air is growing thicker around them again.

Emma realizes the slip a bit too late, and when she opens her mouth to apologize for taking such liberties, the Queen beats her to it. “I barely touched you, it shouldn’t have just sparked like that. Our hands are both gloved, for heaven’s sake!”

It’s startling to see the Queen lose her composure, faltering in the poised demeanor that Emma has come to associate with her over the years. It’s a testament to how frightening what happened between them really is; the idea of dealing with something that is not familiar to either of them.

And if there’s one thing Emma knows for sure, is that stepping out of her comfort zone is as difficult a task for her as it is for the brunette standing opposite her. The way the Queen’s eyebrows are pressed together and her lips are flattened into a thin line is indication enough that things are dwindling - and they’re dwindling fast.

The confirmation comes soon enough, when Regina nearly spits out, “I think you should go, Princess.”

“No.” Emma snarls, grounding her feet and crossing her arms in a gesture that clearly says she’s not accepting any bullshit.

In return, Regina throws her hands up in frustration, giving up on whatever semblance of composure she was trying to hold on to, a swirl of purple smoke enveloping her hands. “Princess, do not assume my lenience with you is an invitation to defy me. You’ll soon realize not many who did that have lived to tell the tale.”

“You really need to make up your mind on whether you’re gonna kill me or not, because I seriously feel like we’re going in circles here.” Emma says, not even bothering to keep out the sarcasm out of her voice.

If there’s one thing that’s sure to backfire is try telling Princess Emma that she can’t do something. And the Evil Queen is about to get familiarized with the classic Charming stubbornness yet again.

“Go!” Regina growls, the ball smoke growing around her hands, her dark brown pupils slowly taking on a purple shade.

Before things can get out of hand (as it seems to be the case whenever Emma is concerned), the blonde simply closes the distance between them. As she does so, her hands close around Regina’s, watching as golden and purple begin to to blend together, the cloud of smoke enveloping them and making the world around them disappear for a few seconds, before slowly rescinding completely.

Regina is the first to let go, gasping as she takes a step back, effectively ending their connection.

“What,” she hisses. “do you think you’re doing?”

The Queen’s words, however, are completely lost on Emma, as the blonde continues to gaze at her hands, a million thoughts running through her mind, yet not a single one coming forth in her time of need. There’s no vestige of magic left in the air, but the memory of Regina’s earlier words burns in her brain, and the tingling inside of her feels different.

When they first touched, it was clear that something was amiss. If the cloud of smoke and the shower of sparks hadn’t been a dead giveaway, Emma could pinpoint plenty other reasons that could; the warmth in her hands as they pressed against Regina’s, the way the air suddenly shifted around them, making it harder and harder to breathe, or even the simple fact that her heart had been about to willingly jump out of her chest - ribcages be damned.

And that only seemed to multiply as Regina touched her yet again, the prolonged contact making her mind fuzzy and her brain light. And yet, it had all gone away once they stopped touching each other.

But not then. No, at that moment, the sensations Emma felt coursing through her were like nothing she’s ever felt before - with or without Regina.

It’s a fact that Emma’s not new to the whole magic business. She’s been around enough fairies and magical creatures, and has read enough books, to know how everything goes. Magic is life. Magic is emotion. Magic is the deepest and purest way to express yourself. That’s why channeling one’s feelings is the easiest way to perform magic. When you want it badly enough, your body is capable of doing almost everything, especially if it’s charged with the ancient power that burns in magic users.

So, when she stepped towards Regina, her only goal was to simply put out the other woman’s magic and maybe discuss what was happening like the adults they were (well, not literally, in any case, but still). What she didn’t mean, however, was doing so by absorbing the Queen’s power.

By the time Regina broke the connection, it was too late. She was everywhere. From the tips of Emma’s toes to the last strand of blonde hair that fell into waves on her back. She could feel Regina’s magic the same way she could feel her own, a thin layer just above her skin, humming lowly in a way that let her know that it was there.

Regina was there.

“Princess!”

“I should go,” Emma mumbles, eyes looking everywhere but the brunette standing in front of her.

She doesn’t know if it’s the tone of her voice or something else, but her words shift something in Regina, and the Queen is quick to take a step towards her, her gaze softening ever-so-slightly, “What--”

“No,” with a headshake, the blonde takes a step back, effectively keeping the distance between them. “I’ll-- You’re-- I’ll be back.” She promises. “But you’re right, I have to go.”

As she turns around and starts running on the opposite direction, Emma thinks she hears Regina calling for her again, but she doesn’t allow herself to look back or falter in her speed. It’s only when she’s crossed the portal and is back in the safety of her own land, that she allows her thoughts to catch up with her, crashing against a tree and letting her body fall to the floor, not even bothering that such action would most likely ruin her clothes.

‘What the hell was that?’


	5. and so i'm wishing, wishing further

_“From childhood's hour I have not been. As others were, I have not seen. As others saw, I could not awaken. My heart to joy at the same tone. And all I loved, I loved alone.”_ \- **Edgar Allan Poe**

 

From ashes we came, and to ashes we shall return.  
  
That’s life, and it’s a simple thing, really. People are born, they grow up and they die. It’s as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. As certain as the earth moving around the sun, as the days that turn to night only to turn into days again.  
  
Except, it really isn’t.  
  
From a young age, Regina Mills knew that her life was different.

Back then, it were only her mother’s wishes for her that gave any indication that - perhaps - growing up wouldn’t be just quite as she imagined. It was only as the years went on, however, and silly childhood dreams gave way to the harsh reality of her teenage years, that Regina realized that there was more than simply a mother who wished the best for her daughter.  
  
No, Cora Mills wanted her to be _extraordinary_. She wanted Regina to learn not only magic, but also cooking and sewing and playing the piano and plenty of other things that she certainly didn’t have the time - nor the disposition - to do in a single day, but that were expected of her nonetheless. She wanted her daughter to be the fairest of the Kingdom and marry the most sought-after King, who would surely be on the brink of death - as those who ruled the great Kingdoms often were - and ready to leave everything to beautiful and young Regina.  
  
Except she wouldn’t have a right to anything, because it was Cora who would be reaping the benefits of a life Regina absolutely did _not_ want to live.  
  
If anything, Regina only wanted to be happy.  
  
She wanted to ride her horse and nurture her apple tree; wanted to spend time taking walks or reading with her father. She wanted simple things - not the intricate plans that her mother concocted to the smallest details, always with her particular endgame in sight - an endgame that never seemed to take Regina’s happiness into consideration.  
  
Looking back, maybe it wasn’t such a far-fetched notion that Regina would grow up to be known as the Evil Queen and that the blood of her mother would be forever stained on her hands.  
  
In the end, though, it was a small price to pay.

It seemed cold - and, perhaps, in it’s own way, it was. But Regina had learned from a very young age that actions have consequences and living with them is just as much a part of life as growing up and growing old. And there could have been no other consequence to Cora’s actions and, in turn, Regina’s. That path had been paved from the moment her mother first used magic as a punishment; it was only a matter of time before it came back to bite her in the ass.

  
If there was one thing Regina Mills knew all too well was that all magic comes with a price.  
  
For obvious reasons, she didn’t like to think about it. Despite everything Cora had done - and the list wasn’t _small_ by any stretch of the imagination - she was still her mother. And despite the circumstances that ultimately led to her demise, Regina still loved her. She just wasn’t blind to her mother’s faults anymore; not like she had been for so many years, desperately yearning for Cora’s love in a way that the woman would never be able give her.  
  
Perhaps, deep inside, she really was the Evil Queen. In all actuality, her title was a direct consequence of her mother’s pursuit of power; the hunger that drove Cora to do unimaginable things and pin them on her then only teenage daughter. Yet sometimes, Regina wondered if being raised by a heartless woman hadn’t left a void in her heart as well. And as the years went on and the crimes she’d allegedly commit became worse, she wondered if that heart hadn't been completely filled with darkness.  
  
It was simple, if not ironic; she was in the darkness, so darkness she became.  
  
But that had been many, many years before. Now, all Regina had left was a cursed life.  
  
However, as they say, history can only be contemplated after a certain period of time. There’s no way of knowing how important a moment is while you’re still _living_ it. There needs to be a certain detachment, and Regina thinks, twenty years later, that she finally has that. Finally has distanced herself enough to realize that maybe her mother’s curse was actually a blessing in disguise.

Maybe she was meant to suffer, so she could fully appreciate happiness when it came her way.  
  
And it did. After so much suffering, everything changed.  
  
Once the curse settled, ceasing fire wasn’t choice, but a mere consequence. It was, yet again, another thing that her mother had taken from her. It seemed that even after she was gone, Cora still managed to pull strings on Regina’s life; still managed to take away her freedom, the one thing she’d always longed for.  
  
It took a while, but soon it became clear to Regina that her mother’s curse had a far bigger reach than she had anticipated. It were the little intricacies that were carefully woven into the curse that made her realize she'd been a fool to believe that her mother would be happy to take only her happy ending with her. No. It wasn’t enough that Regina was doomed to spend eternity mourning the loss of her great love, she would have to do so while slowly being trapped into the wards of her own kingdom, the curse expanding as the years went on until not a single soul could leave or enter her land.  
  
In some ways, it was a good thing; she knew that Henry would never be safe if people were after her, but as long as the wards kept closing in on them, there was nothing people could do. And though the curse wasn’t completely fulfilled - which never would be, considering that those who weren’t alive when it was enacted couldn’t be brought under it - she had a mixture of magical wards, spells, dangerous creatures and sheer fear that kept her land, her people and _herself_ safe from the enemies that she’d gathered as a result of her dearest mother's actions.  
  
There was nothing to do but call back her forces, fortify the spells that kept her wards intact and close off her kingdom to each and every person who might wish to harm her. The people would never be able to leave; even the younger ones, who’d be treated as pariahs if they ever stepped foot outside her realm. And even if there was a way, there was no question in her mind that exile was a better alternative for them than death would ever be.  
  
It was like this - cursed away from the world - that the Dark Kingdom prospered. More than eleven years passed and the so-called war Regina and Snow White were raging against each other was nothing but a dark cloud that hovered over the entire land. It was as if the cloud kept getting bigger and bigger, fuller and fuller, just like clouds do whenever a storm is coming.  
  
Except there had been no storm, only an explosion of summer light like she’d never seen before.  
  
She remembers as clear as if it had happened yesterday, how Henry was found on the steps of her palace, a bundle of ripped blankets wrapped around him, barely keeping the tiny baby warm in the harsh winter cold. The child had been dirty, mud covering his face and his body, but when he was brought to her, Regina was sure that the baby was the most beautiful little creature she’d ever seen in her entire life.  
  
Keeping him wasn’t a choice; it was a given.  
  
That, in itself, was a surprise. It went without saying that her mother was a piss poor example for a maternal figure, and she was the only one Regina had ever had in her life. And yet, holding baby Henry in her arms felt different. Natural, even. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that after Cora and the terrible experience she had with Snow White - of giving somebody her love, only to have everything ripped away from her - that she could still bring herself to love someone; that she still had a heart beating inside her chest that was capable of doing more than just pumping blood into her system.  
  
Henry was the first one to show her that, _maybe_ , not everything was lost.  
  
Maybe there was more to her than the darkness she’d turned to when she thought everything was lost in her life.  
  
So as the years went by, she raised him. She swore to herself that she’d never do anything to harm him and that she’d protect the boy from anyone who wished to do so. She promised that she’d be the best she could be - for him, and _only_ him. And, despite what everyone else thought, she kept her promises.  
  
In her mind, Snow White became nothing more than an annoying memory she just couldn’t shake off. After years and years trying to come up with ways to make the woman pay for the actions that had brought such pain and suffering to Regina’s life, she finally found herself able to focus on more important things. Not move on, no. As much as she tried, the pain inside her heart was still strong for her to just forget about the things Snow had done to her.

But Henry - sweet baby Henry, with his wide, curious eyes and loving smile - quickly became more important than any revenge against Snow White could ever amount to be.

  
Above all else, Regina wanted to be an example for the boy. She knew that it would come a time when her past would become a problem in their relationship. There was no way it wouldn’t. But until then, she was determined to make sure that the good days in Henry's life would far outweight the bad ones.  
  
Soon after her life had been changed upside down, the rumors started.

The stories told tales of how the Evil Queen was dead; how she’d disappeared in fright of the power Snow White commanded. Regina wasted no time proving those rumors wrong, using the time she still had until the curse fully took in to send plenty of small ‘gifts’ to The White Kingdom, sending the best regards from the Evil Queen. But never more than that. Never anything that it would mean Henry would hate her when he became old enough to understand the politics of their land - no more, of course, than he was already bound to do once he’d learned of her history.  
  
And learn he did, of course.  
  
Those had been trying times. Still were, if Regina was being honest with herself. The stories made their way to her son’s ears and, despite making sure he knew what actually had happened, it had still been difficult on their relationship. They’d always been extremely close and Henry had some sort of hero-worship when it came to his mother; to learn that the entire land feared her because of her deeds as the Evil Queen had been heartbreaking, to say the very least.  
  
Regina was sure that despite his words, the boy still couldn’t bring himself to fully trust her again. She saw it in his actions too; the way he’d sometimes flinch if she made any sudden move, or would resort to calling her by her title if he was too surprised, no matter how many times she’d told him that even though he wasn’t biologically her son, he _was_ the Prince and would someday be King after she was gone.  
  
It was a small battle everyday; she longed for the moments where he’d show up on her bedroom after waking up from a nightmare and ask to be held because he was scared. Or even the moments when he was too sick and only wanted his mother by his side, to soothe his fevers and make everything better. Now he barely ever touched her and she was sure that his nightmares were plagued by the image of her own actions in the past.  
  
Now Regina herself was the monster under his bed, a notion that hurt her more than anything else in her entire life ever could.  
  
Sometimes she wanted to give up and just _be_ that monster. But after so many years fighting so hard against it, she felt she had more to lose now than she ever did before, and that gave her enough strenght to fight another day. It gave her strength to punish those who were trying to disturb the fleeting peace she created, the life she worked so hard to provide not only for her son but for her entire kingdom as well.  
  
The secret was in the little things; in the way Henry would ask to join her on her walks, or the way her father would kiss her forehead and tell her he was proud of her. How people on the street would actually talk to her and not cower in fear. It were things that many people might take for granted, but not Regina. Not when she came so close to lose all of that as a consequence of other people’s actions against her.  
  
It took a long time, but she refused to be the victim of circumstances anymore.  
  
It was why she hadn’t killed Princess Emma when she first saw her.  
  
The magic certainly had been a surprise; her kingdom had been secluded for enough time that she was the only magic user that could be found anywhere remotely close to her lands. As such, she had to admit it took her more than it should have to realize that someone was finding a way to bypass her wards. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Henry throwing a temper tantrum and running into the woods - only to find himself lost and Regina worried sick to death - she would never have noticed the stench that seemed to be floating around.  
  
And it was _everywhere_.  
  
From the forest to the village and the orchards, she could smell it as clear as the scent of coffee that rose from the kitchens of her castle everyday. It was near the river and the stables, near the market and the schools, in each turn and in every corner. She could smell it even inside her _palace_. No matter where she went, the annoying scent of spice and earth followed her, not to mention something disgustingly sweet that Regina knew, with absolute certainty, could mean nothing but white magic.  
  
She tried for months to find the source of it. More often than not, her efforts would lead her in a wild chase, only to end up in the middle of nowhere, any traces of magic completely gone. Whoever it was responsible for it was either really good at covering up their tracks or had absolutely no idea they were even leaving a trail in the first place. It was frustrating, to say the very least.  
  
And Regina had never dealt well with frustration.  
  
“I’m sick of it!” the words rang out of her mouth as the glasses nearby turned into shatters, an action Regina would have barely even noticed, had it not had her father - who had been keeping her company after Henry had been put to bed - cowering against the shards that resulted from the small explosion.  
  
“Regina, darling, please be calm.” Henry Sr. pleaded, the one thing he often seemed to be doing when it came to his daughter. “I’m positive that if you just take some time to think this through you’ll find out what exactly is happening. Destroying your castle and potentially harming your old father will do no good to any of us.”  
  
It was nothing the thought of harming one of the few people that she cares about that made Regina take a deep breath, feeling the magic subside inside of her.  
  
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said, walking into her father’s open arms, head finding the familiar position on his shoulder. “I’m just so lost. After the curse-- We’ve been exiled for so long. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to--” the words broke and she let out a sob, clinging tighter to her father’s clothes. “Especially when I failed...”  
  
“My daughter,” her father whispered, pulling his daughter back to meet his gaze, so full of loving and concern. “How many times do I have to say this? You haven’t failed. You don’t have to carry that weight on your shoulder, not when you’re already paying a far more expensive price than any of us.”  
  
Regina shook her head, lips pressing together as frustration seeped into her once again. “But my price is mine and mine alone, Daddy!” she cried, and the glasses around them began to tremble as the power inside her started to grow again. “That’s for _me_ to bear and I can deal with it. But what I absolutely cannot deal with is the fact that because of a curse that was meant for me, my entire kingdom is falling apart.”  
  
The old man sighed, shaking his head at his daughter’s antics. It was, perhaps, a reflex of being raised by Cora, but she’d always been a little dramatic. He couldn’t blame her, not when she was often justified in her actions, but at times like these, he couldn’t help but wish that Regina were a little more relaxed, if only so that they’d have to stop replenishing the glasses on the windows of the castle.  
  
But seeing as that was probably a futile thing to wish, he settled for pointing out, “It’s hardly falling apart, Regina.”  
  
“It gets worse everyday!” the Queen yelled as yet another window shattered around them. “Each day that this curse haunts me is another day that my people become more trapped in this land! How many of them can even get out? What’s a couple hundred when my army alone used to hold thousands? Snow White probably thinks I’m dead and, quite honestly, I might as well be!”  
  
“You’re well aware that they don’t blame you. Your mother did terrible things to this kingdom, my child. The people could never be angry at you, especially when they know what it has cost you.” There was a pause as he fully registered the Queen’s words, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “Snow White?” he asked, amusement on his tone. “Weren’t we past that?”  
  
His amusement only increased when his daughter rolled her eyes, a scowl on her lips.  
  
“We’ll never be past that, Daddy. Circumstances, however, have been less than _convenient_ for conducting a vendetta, wouldn’t you say?”  
  
Giving a noncommittal nod and choosing not to comment on it, her father moved to the tumblers of apple cider on the corner of the room, pouring drinks for them both.  
  
As he handed a glass to his daughter, he asked, “How are you trying to find this… source of magic, as you put it?”  
  
“Thank you,” Regina said as she accepted the drink from her father, taking a small sip as her eyes roamed over the broken shards of glass that were currently covering her parlour. “And to be quite honest, I’m at a loss. I tried following the trail but it vanishes out of nowhere once I reach the edge of the forest.”  
  
“Which means that whoever is responsible for it is no longer on our lands, correct?”  
  
Regina nods.  
  
“Then,” her father began, finishing the liquid on his glass and setting it aside as he took a sit on the couch. “Wouldn’t it be easier, perhaps, if you tried to find the person _whilst_ they’re still here?”  
  
And from then on, it was, as they say, piece of cake.  
  
In the end, Regina could only blame herself for the sheer stupidity of not finding out earlier who was responsible for the magic staining her land. She was so blinded by the need to find the culprit that she failed to come up with the simplest ways in which she could do so. And there were no shortage of it, either; she had no small amount of spells made to track magic users and she could also feel when things were different - the small shimmer of magic that seemed to glitter in the air and made the wind blow warmer in days that were getting colder and colder by the second.  
  
Once she realized that all she had to do was focus, things seemed to snap into place. It was, in some weird twist of fate, as if she was meant to find Princess Emma on that clearing. And if her mind hadn’t been so clouded by panic, she was absolutely positive it wouldn’t have taken her months upon months of frustration to do so - not to mention, an endless amount of broken windows.  
  
Finding the Princess standing on the forest, however, had been yet another blow that Regina hadn’t seen it coming.  
  
Of all the things she’d been expecting, the fully-grown child of her nemesis most certainly wasn’t it.  
  
And so weren’t the feelings that came along with it.  
  
She expected, at the very _least_ , to feel an urge to kill Emma on sight. The Princess stood for everything Regina loathed so deeply in her life and yet, killing her had been nothing but a fleeting thought in her mind. Just a passing idea that vanished as soon as she realized that even though the Princess clearly knew who she was and what she had allegedly done, she wasn’t running away.  
  
Against all reason, Princess Emma had sparked something inside her that Regina had long ago forgotten even existed, and despite everything that stood between them, it seemed they’d only come together with each encounter.

Regina felt as if, with each interaction and each secret spilled, more and more of herself was being shared with Emma.

Emma, who was the one person who could destroy everything she fought so hard to protect. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to just do what she was supposed to do and end the Princess' life. It’d be so simple; Snow White would be devastated, victory would _finally_ be hers. She would have her happy ending.  
  
Except, would she really? She wasn’t so sure anymore. Hadn’t been, really, from the moment she saw the way Emma’s nose wrinkled when she was confused and her brows furrowed when something was going on in her mind.  
  
She didn’t want to notice these things but it seemed that fate, once again, was playing against her.  
  
Never had the thought of losing a game been so enticing to her.  
  
//  
  
“Are you going to kill Emma?”  
  
The question took her by surprise, making her head snap to where Henry sat, playing with his food and not meeting her gaze. His voice was small and broken, in the way Regina had become so accustomed to hear whenever he was talking about her reign as the Evil Queen.  
  
She longed for the days when he’d smile at her, but it seemed they were slipping further and further away as the days went on.  
  
“Emma?” Her father interrupted, before she could shake herself out of her thoughts and give Henry an answer.  
  
“Princess Emma of the White Kingdom,” she explained, ignoring the way her father’s eyes widened as she turned to her son. “And to answer your question, no, Henry, I have no plans of killing her, though that does seem to be a recurring topic on her visits.”  
  
“Really?” the boy perked up, ignoring the muttered end of Regina’s sentence. “You mean you really, _really_ won’t kill her?”  
  
For his part, Henry Sr. seemed to be getting even more confused as the conversation went on, but his daughter chose to satiate the young boy’s queeries first before attempting to explain anything to her father.  
  
“I really won’t,” she assured him. “Is that so hard to believe, darling?”  
  
Pushing his plate aside, the boy seemed to be contemplating her words, his eyebrows furrowing together and his lips opening and closing as he tried to make sense of his thoughts and feelings.  
  
Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and met Regina’s gaze, “I--I want to believe you. You’re my-- I mean, you’re the only mother I’ve ever had and I don’t want to think of you hurting people. That’s not who you are.”  
  
“Henry,” she breathed, reaching out to take his hand, squeezing it tightly as tears filled her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt people either. You have to understand that. I know the stories you’ve heard and I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I promise you from the bottom of my heart that I would never do anything to make you think any less of me. I don’t care about what anyone else might say, but I _do_ care about _you_. And I would never jeopardize that.”  
  
At his mother’s words, something tugged on Henry’s heart. Logically, he knew that things weren’t as black and white as people seemed to paint them, but it was still hard, in his heart, to acknowledge the fact that the woman who’d raised him to be good and caring was the same woman who had done so much to hurt other people. It was impossible - looking at the way way she treated her people and, well, _him_ \- to think that she was responsible for so much pain and suffering as he learned from his tales.  
  
And yet, he knew it was all true. Knew that, because she had never denied it. Not once, not even when he came at her, kicking and screaming that she had no heart and that he wanted nothing to do with her. Even when she was hurt by his actions, she’d still been truthful to the core and how could he still think she was evil when he never, _ever_ in his life had actually experienced that?  
  
According to the tales, she had more reason than anyone to want Princess Emma dead. And yet, Henry could see that she was being truthful when she said she had no plans of killing her.  
  
It was time he accepted that maybe, just maybe, people didn’t know his mother as well as they claimed they did.  
  
“Okay,” he whispered, squeezing her hand and giving her a small smile. It’d be perhaps a difficult road, but Henry now realized it was one they could travel together and maybe find their way out of the mess that was made of their lives. “I believe you, mom.”  
  
“Thank you, Henry,” the Queen beamed at her son, pressing the tip of her fingers against her eyes to dry the tears that had gathered there. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”  
  
The boy shrugged, taking a sip of his drink before turning to his mother again, “Will she still visit?”  
  
“ _Visit_?” her father exclaimed, his silver fork dropping from his hand. “You mean to tell me that we’ve been getting visits from Snow White’s _daughter_? Regina, darling--”  
  
“Father,” she interrupted him, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “It seems that Princess Emma is the one responsible for that… _issue_ , I told you about.”  
  
“What issue?” Henry was quick to catch on, as Regina knew he would be.  
  
“Swallow your food first, Henry.” she admonished him, and the boy did as told before repeating the question. With a glance between the two men in her life, she answered, “I’ve been feeling some traces of magic on our kingdom for the past few months and I’ve found out that Princess Emma is the one responsible for that.”  
  
“How did you come to find that, my dear child?”  
  
“Is that why she can get past the wards?”  
  
The two questions were fired at her almost at the same time, and for a moment she wasn't sure which one to answer first. It seemed that her dinner was quickly turning into an interrogation and, with a sigh, she pushed her plate away, deciding it was best to give her undivided attention to the other occupants of the table.  
  
“I believe so, Henry,” she nodded to her son, before turning to her father. “I simply did what you told me to do, Daddy. I suppose that in my panicked state I failed to acknowledge that the simplest solutions are often the ones that garner the best results. Once I knew what to look for, it was no hard task to find the culprit, and by that, of course, I mean Princess Emma herself.”  
  
Before Henry could interrupt again, her father asked, “And she’s been visiting?”  
  
She nodded, taking a sip of her cider.  
  
“Regina…”  
  
“I know, Daddy,” she cut him off, noticing that his tone of voice was almost the same as the one Henry had when he asked if she was planning on killing Emma. Before any of them could say anything else, she rushed into an explanation. “I’m well aware that my track record is less than stellar and that having Princess Emma here is as close to having Snow White’s head handed to me on a plate but I will _not_ kill her and I would appreciate if the two most important people in my life would stop doubting me and for once believe that I have other reasons to allow her presence here and not a single one of them is rooted on revenge or anything related to that!”  
  
Her outburst seemed to take both her father and son by surprise and, for a moment, the room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.  
  
She didn’t mean to snap like that, but apparently it had been building inside of her and it felt good to let it out. It didn’t matter that she didn’t fully understand the reasons why she wouldn’t kill Princess Emma, only that she _wouldn’t_ and her word should’ve been enough for those who claimed to love her. It hurt, in the bottom of her heart, to know that no matter what she did, people would still doubt her reasons and question her every action.  
  
It hurt that no matter what she did, she’d never be good _enough_.  
  
“It’s just…” Henry was the first to recover from the shock, chewing on his bottom lip as he met her gaze. “I’m not saying that I don’t believe you. I _do_. But I just want to know why.”  
  
“I already told you--”  
  
The boy shook his head quickly, “No, no. I know you changed. I-You-- I know that I haven’t been the greatest son lately and that I’ve treated you badly when I found out who you were, but… What I mean is that… Snow White hurt you. Grandma Cora hurt you more, yes, but she wasn’t the only one. So why wouldn’t you want to hurt Snow White as well?”  
  
This time, Regina was the one stunned into silence.  
  
There was her son, so wise and so brave for his young age, asking a question that she never wished he would ask, because if there was one thing she knew she wanted him to know was that no matter what, retaliation was never the way to handle things. She wanted Henry to know that it took the loss of her mother, being trapped into a curse and losing everything that mattered to her to realize that revenge did nothing but leave a soul darker and darker and she would never, ever in her life want him to find out what that felt like.  
  
But it seemed the younger boy had yet to learn that lesson.  
  
“My boy,” she trembled, getting up from her seat to kneel in front of him, cupping his cheeks in her hands. “You say that you believe I have changed, and yet you question me like this. Henry…” her voice cracked and she took a deep breath, glancing at her father and receiving a small nod of encouragement from him before turning back to her son. “Look at your grandfather, look at our home, our kingdom. Why would I put any of that at risk just so I can make Snow White suffer? What happiness would that bring to my life?”  
  
“It wouldn’t, but…” Henry whispered as he shifted in his chair, his gaze falling to his lap. “It’s what the Evil Queen would do.”  
  
“Yes, it is,” Regina stated, not bothering to deny the claim. “But I’m not… I’m just _Regina_ , Henry. And Regina has far more to lose than the Evil Queen _ever_ did. After I lost Daniel, I didn’t think I’d ever find another reason to live for. But I was wrong. I have. And no matter what my mother or Snow White did, I’m still standing. They couldn’t bring me down. And now I have you, and your grandfather, and an entire land to take care of. It just took me a while to realize that these are the things that matter, not revenge.”  
  
It seemed as if that had been the right thing to say, as Henry quickly wrapped his arms around her neck, pulling her into a hug. It seemed awkward at first; the action had been missing from their lives for so long that Regina wasn’t sure she even knew how it felt anymore, but it took no more than a few seconds for things to click into place and for it to just feel _right_.  
  
Once the boy pulled back, Regina turned to find her father’s gaze upon them, a proud smile on his lips and tears on his eyes.  
  
It seemed that the cracks in their family were finally beginning to close.


	6. for the excitment to arrive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I shall finish this even if it takes years. In the meantime, I give you an early christmas gift.

One week.

Seven days.

One hundred and sixty eight hours.

That’s how long it had been since Emma left Regina’s kingdom.

Or, well, since Emma _ran_ , really.

In all honesty, she hadn’t meant to. Things had been going surprisingly well and Emma had managed to, once again, screw things up.

It wasn’t her fault - not all of it, anyway. Things with Regina just got way too intense, way too fast and she really didn’t know what to do when her body was surrounded by magical smoke and she was _feeling_ the other woman inside of her, the Queen’s heart beating in time with her own, just as strong and as _alive_.

It was terrifying.

And at the same time, it was… magical. It was pure, sacred. It was, without a single doubt, the most amazing thing that Princess Emma had ever felt in all of her nearly 18 years of existence.

She couldn’t take her mind off it. It was one week later and, as she lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, Regina’s face was all that she could see and the feelings that came from their magic combined was all that Emma could feel, all that Emma _was_.

How was she supposed to face the other woman again? How was she supposed to stand in front of the Queen and keep her body in check when all it wanted - all it _craved_ \- was to feel that magic again? It seemed that when she was touching Regina, she was suddenly complete. As if, for all of her life, her body had been searching for a missing piece and with the brunette woman, everything just fell into place.

Emma had heard plenty of things about magical connections in her life, but never of anything so pure and so _powerful_. How could she be expected to figure it out when she had no idea what it even meant?

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, flipping on her bed and hiding her face on the pillow. “Ugh!”

“Emma?”

The knock on her door startled her and she flipped too quickly on her bed, causing her body to get tangled in the sheets and ending up a heap on the floor. That was the scene her father found as he stepped into the room, his gaze roaming the space for a second before he rounded the bed and found the mess that was his daughter.

“Do you need any help?” he chuckled as Emma’s head popped out from the bundle of sheets on the floor.

“Sorry, Dad, just give me a second,” her words were muffled, but her father nodded anyway, stepping back as Emma gathered herself. “What’s up?”

Seeing that his daughter remained in one piece, a grin took over Charming’s lips as he lifted a package he was holding, handing it to his daughter. “It’s your birthday present.”

“My birthday is not for another month, Dad.” Emma rolled her eyes but wasted no time taking the package from him and ripping it open in a single movement.

“I know it’s not, but I figured you’d like to get acquainted with your new possession beforehand.” Charming said with a shrug, watching the excitement on his daughter’s face as she took in her gift. “Do you like it?”

“It’s-- Dad…”

Pulling the sword from its sheath - that was embedded with diamonds and emeralds, just like the hilt - Emma watched it as it gleamed on the morning light, the silver from the blade so shiny that she could see her face reflected on it. She could also see, upon closer inspection, that the sword also had golden inscriptions on it, the Charming family words _‘Semper Invenie Invicem’_ burning gold as the sun along the blade that was as thin as a needle and as sharp as a razor.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, swinging the sword in the air and watching it as it made a perfect arc, the weight firmly balanced on her hand. “It’s _perfect_.”

“You deserve it,” Charming stated as Emma pushed the sword back into its sheath and wasted no time jumping on her father, wrapping him in a hug. “Woah there, careful, kid. You’re not a little baby anymore and your old man’s back has seen better days.”

“I love you,” Emma whispered as she pulled back, placing a kiss on her father’s cheek. “This is the best gift ever.”

Her father chuckled, “Your mother seems to disagree, but I’m glad that you like it. I’ve been saving it for a long time.”

“Yeah, I can guess that she might not be too fond of it,” Emma smirked, running her hand over the scabbard. “Were it a bow and arrow, however…”

“Ah,” her father nodded, pressing his lips together. “Who knows, maybe she’ll gift you one of those herself. She always was quite fond of them…”

“Nah, it’s not ladylike. I doubt she would.”

In the blink of an eye, her father’s expression sobered, “Your mother knows that you need to defend yourself, Emma. We might be at a cease-fire with the Evil Queen but we can’t let ourselves be lured into this false sense of security.”

It was as if a bucket of cold water had been dropped on her head.

Her father’s gift had done a great work of taking her mind off Regina and their crazy magic connection, only to return it tenfold with the knowledge that they were, or well, _should_ be, enemies.

The days spent with the Queen, getting to know each other, sharing bits and pieces of their lives were, simply put, _wrong_. Emma had no business endangering the life of the people in her kingdom and yet there was absolutely no chance she’d be able to distance herself from Regina now that she had experienced what it felt like to be so in touch with the woman.

She couldn’t let that part of herself go, no matter what it might cost.

“Do you think,” she started, dropping her sword on her bed and falling next to it. “It’s possible that she… I don’t know, changed?”

“Emma…” her father seemed torn for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh as he took a seat next to her. For a second it makes her hopeful that he’ll see things her way, maybe accept the off-chance that Regina might actually want to redeem herself. But when he opens his mouth, all that hope is crushed right before her own eyes. “No, I don’t think so, kid. I think she’s too far gone for change to even be an option, let alone a real possibility.”

“But you don’t know that, do you? I mean, not for sure.”

Her gaze meets her father’s and for a second Charming is surprised at the fire he sees burning in green orbs. But then he remembers how Emma truly is his daughter and Snow’s, and a small - somewhat sad - smile takes over his lips.

“I’m so proud of you, Emma.” he confesses. “Your optimism is a remarkable trait and I wouldn’t wish for you to be anything other than what you are, but some people…” he sighs, shaking his head. “Some people just can’t be saved. Unfortunately, Regina is one of those people.”

Sensing that this is a battle she already lost, Emma simply nods.

“Okay.”

Charming, noticing the sudden change on his daughter’s mood, bumps his shoulder against hers, pointing to the sword lying on the bed. “You need to name it, you know. All great swords have a name.”

It’s a poor attempt at changing the subject and they both know it, but Emma gives into it, choosing to keep her thoughts about Regina to herself. If she’s to have any chance of ever seeing the Queen again, she knows that she can’t have her parents suspecting anything is wrong.

“A name...” she whispers, picking up the sword and flipping it in her hands, watching as the sun rays reflect from it, the sight nothing short of exquisite. And then it hits her. “ _Aethereus_.”

Her father frowns, “Ae-- what?”

“It means ethereal,” she explains. “I read it somewhere… I don’t know, I guess it just fits.”

“No, you’re right.” Charming nods. “ _Aethereus_. It does fit.”

“When can I take it for a spin?”

“I’d say right now, but sadly I must take my leave,” getting up, he places a kiss on forehead before stepping back. “Your mother and I have been summoned to the west camp. It seems that Maleficent’s army got a little too close to our land and it caused quite a mess. The men are not happy and we need to have a word with them if we wish to avoid a war.”

At the mention of a war, Emma’s eyes widened slightly, “Why haven’t I heard anything about that?

“We just heard it ourselves,”  Charming confesses. “The summons arrived as I was coming here to deliver your gift. But worry not, kid. I’m sure it’s a mere formality and we’ll be back by tomorrow’s nightfall at the latest.”

“Are you sure?”

Her father’s smile is all the reassurance she needs, “Positive. Now, you should change and come say goodbye to your mother. The idea of leaving the castle with your birthday so close has left her none too pleased.”

“Gods forbid anything get in the way of such a celebration, huh?” she teases, pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek before he walks to the door. “I’ll see you soon, Dad. And thank you for the gift, it truly is amazing.”

As he opens the door, Charming turns to look at her, “There’s no need to thank me, kid. You deserve it.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts yet again.

 

//

 

By the time Emma has gathered the courage to visit Regina’s kingdom, her parents are already halfway through their impromptu trip to their barricades on the west.

In the best case scenario, such journey is worrisome, and in the worst, completely terrifying. It’s not an unusual occurrence, no, but things have been shifting lately and Emma is worried that one small spark of trouble will move on to start a fire that will consume the entire land, leaving nothing but a trail of pain and destruction behind.

Most of all, she’s afraid she’ll be caught right in the middle of it.

Logically, she knows that it’s not possible for Regina to have anything to do with whatever trouble Maleficent’s army has caused, but there are no questions on _where_ the witch’s alliance lies and if something indeed happened that might turn into a war, there’s no doubt in her mind that her parent’s will take no time before jumping to the conclusion that the Evil Queen has something to do with it.

It seems that no matter what she does, things just keep falling apart and she and Regina are standing in the eye of the storm.

And yet, she can’t help as her legs take her away from her bedchambers, finding the path she’s come to know so well over the past few years, straight into the forest that would lead her to the Dark Kingdom once again.

These days, it’s like she doesn’t even realize where her feet are taking her and by the time she does, she’s already crossed into the other land. It’s a desperate desire to escape; to find freedom, freedom that - apparently - can only be found when Regina is around, cracking sarcastic jokes and taking her mind off birthday celebrations and arranged marriages.

By the time she reaches Regina’s castle, having walked further than she usually does without even a trace of the woman, Emma is convinced that something is not right. Maybe she screwed up too badly when she ran away and Regina probably doesn’t want to see her again.

“Hey, Emma!” she’s surprised by a voice calling out, just moments before tiny arms wrap around her waist and the momentum of the action nearly sends her toppling on the floor.

“Henry, hey! Hi. What are you doing here?” the Princess asks, once she’s regained her balance. With a glance, she notices that Henry is alone with his guards and Regina is nowhere in sight. “Where’s your moth- uh, Regina. Where’s Regina?”

“She’s busy on some meetings or something, but she knew you were here so she said I can hang out with you!”

“She did?” Emma is surprised. “And you wish to spend time with me?”

“Of course,” Henry remarks, and she can clearly hear the duh at the end of his words. “We can discuss Operation Swan and I can show you the stables and the orchards and even the castle, if you want! Did you ever go inside? We could, it’s pretty awesome. I think you’d like it.”

“Woah, kid, slow down.” she chuckles. “First things first, have you had breakfast yet? I kinda rushed here and I haven’t really eaten anything.”

Henry frowns, “But it’s nearly lunchtime.”

“Well, then, what about lunch?” Emma amends.

“No, I haven’t had that yet. We usually wait for Mom, but I don’t think she’d be mad if I ate with you.” he shrugs. “I mean, she did tell me to be a good host.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want your mother to upset…”

“I’m sure,” Henry reassures her with a quick nod of his head. “And after we eat I can show you around.”

Turning on his heel, the boy quickly makes his way back to the the Castle entrance, the guards moving in unison after him, their steps rushed, yet silent as ghosts. It made Emma wish that her own escorts had been like that; whenever she left her parents’ palace, she was always all too aware of the guards following her and, at times, it felt like she was suffocating.

Shaking her head to herself, she filed that as yet another thing Regina had seemingly done right whereas her parents - in their desperation to protect her from an invisible enemy - had badly screwed up.

“Welcome to the Dark Palace,” Henry announced as they walked through the imposing iron doors that guarded the castle’s entrance. As he turned to her, his nose was crunched. “It’s not a very creative name, I guess. But according to my tutor, that’s your Mother’s fault. Yours is White, ours is Dark, because they’re opposites.”

“Want to know a secret?” Emma asked as she leaned down to meet Henry’s gaze. When the boy nodded, she grinned, “I think yours is way cooler.”

For a moment, Henry seems shocked by the admission. And then, a grin slowly shows up on his lips.

“You’re cool, Princess Emma. I like you.”

“I like you too, Prince Henry,” she admits, a pleasant warmth spreading on her chest at the boy’s words.

“Come on, this way.”

As they walk further into the fortress, Emma’s mind can’t help but notice how contradicting it feels to see the castle from the outside and then get to experience it from inside. Whenever she visited, she’d always marvel at how imposing the Dark Palace was; its walls looming eerie and mysterious on the horizon, the darkness a stark contrast against the blue of the sky. She could only imagine how frightening it must look when the sun went down and the moon was the only thing shining up among the stars.

But now, following Henry inside stone walls through what could only be classified as a maze, she realized that it didn’t feel the way she thought it would; it’s not cold, it’s not empty. If anything, the endless windows and balconies make it feel like _freedom_ , the light reflecting against black marble floors in a way she never thought it could feel anything less than horrifying, but actually turns out to be a breathtaking sight.

“Wow,” she whispers as they reach the dining room, where a long table sits in the middle of it, silver and red details adorning the surface and its chairs.

Henry looks pleased by her reaction. “You really like it here, don’t you?”

“It’s surprisingly comforting,” she admits, not meeting his gaze. “Whenever I’m here, I just… I feel free.”

“And you don’t feel like that at home?”

He seems confused, which Emma figures is, you know, _understandable_ . It’s not as if she can make any more sense of her feelings than Henry can, to be honest. She wonders if it’s wise to be sharing things like that with him; he _is_ only 11, after all, but at the same time, she can see some form of understanding in his gaze and it’s the one thing she’s always longed for in her life basically being handed on a plate and how is she supposed to turn away from it?

She can’t.

“I don’t,” the words are soft and trembled, the admission harder than Emma thought possible. “And don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I don’t love my kingdom or my parents. I just… Sometimes I wish I wasn’t born a Princess, you know? I’m not sure I’m particularly cut out for a life of balls and curtsies, bureaucracy and fake smiles.”

“Mom isn’t either,” Henry tells her as they take their places across from each other, the seat at the head of the table remaining ominously empty. “She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell most meetings bore her and we never really have any balls.” he frowns for a moment. “It’s all pretending, because that’s what’s expected of her.”

The information doesn’t really surprise Emma as much as she thought it would, but she doesn’t say anything, choosing to file that piece of conversation for another time.

“Do you wish to be King, Henry?”

“I--” the boy falters for a moment, the question clearly taking him by surprise. “I don’t know. I think I would, but I don’t know if I’d ever be as great a ruler as my mother is.”

It’s ironic, in a way, to have their fears being so similar when their upbrings couldn’t have been more different.

“You know, Henry,” she leans closer to him as the servants bring out their food. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m sure your mother will be extremely proud of you once you do become King, and I am confident you’ll be an amazing one at that.”

Henry blushes slightly at her words, but his lips split in a grin as his gaze meets hers, “I think you’ll be amazing as well.”

“Really?” she’s not so sure. “Why do you think that?”

“Because you won’t be trying to kill my mother.”

The way he states it is matter-of-factly and she watches as his grin turns into a smirk, the action a carbon copy of the way Regina’s lips curve in the same way. It’s only a reminder that nurture is sometimes more powerful than nature and Henry couldn’t be more of the Evil Queen’s son if he tried.

“ _That_ , Prince Henry,” she starts, watching the way his back straightens at the mention of his title. “is not something you have to worry about.”

Seeming pleased by Emma’s words, Henry turns his focus to his plate, watching as the woman in front of him does the same, a pleased smile on her lips as she chews on a piece of food.

She’s different than his mother, he notices. While Regina is always poised and collected - the picture of a Queen, really - Emma is _all_ over the place. The contrast is glaring, even for a young boy like him, and yet he can’t help but notice the way both women just seem to gravitate towards each other, their bodies relaxing and their expressions smoothing whenever they’re in the same vicinity.

It’s why he’s taken such a quick like to Princess Emma. Despite everything that she represented - and imminent war was just the tip of it - she also brought forth a side of his mother that he hadn’t seen in a long time. As much as such predicament was his fault, and he was man enough to admit that it was, Henry was glad that he now had help fixing what his words and his actions had broken.

Princess Emma’s arrival on their kingdom was like a beacon of hope, a reminder that no matter how bad things look, nothing is ever so broken that it can’t be repaired if one tries hard enough.

“What do you want to do now?” Henry asks once they’ve all but inhaled their lunches and Regina still hasn’t shown up.

Emma shrugs, rolling her head back and letting out a satisfied sigh. “You mentioned something about a tour?”

Nodding excitedly, Henry jumps from his seat and runs towards the door, Emma and his guards following immediately after him.

“Well, you’ve seen the main hall and the dining hall,” the boy says, pointing towards the place they’d just came from. “We have a ball room, east and west wings, kitchens, dungeons, the library, uh,” he furrows his brow, biting his lip. “There’s more, but I can’t really remember right now.”

Emma laughs, “That’s quite alright. I have a Castle of my own, I think I get the gist of it.”

“Do you want to see the apple orchards?”

“Can we? I heard that sort of your mother’s thing and I wouldn’t wish to cross her.”

“Why, yes,” a new voice interrupts before Henry can reply. “ _We_ most certainly can see the orchards and I can _guarantee_ that the Queen won’t say a thing about it.”

“Hilarious,” the blonde deadpans as she turns around to meet Regina, only to have her breath knocked out of her. “Wow.”

The Queen smirks, “I’m sorry, darling?”

“N-Nothing,” Emma stammers. “I mean, you look very… _Regal_.”

That’s not really the word that first came to the Princess’ mind, but given their current company, she figures it’s the best one to use. The feeling of Regina’s touch still lingers on her body and Emma can’t help the shudder that goes down her spine at the thought of it, even if she doesn’t know what to make of it. And it seems that Regina recalls the situation just as vividly as the Princess does, but seeming to read between the lines - understanding Emma’s real intentions as she so effortlessly does - she only tilts her head to the side in thanks, immediately letting the subject drop.

“I do believe my son wanted to show you something, right?” she looks at Henry, who nods with a grin. “Well, then, shall we?”

That seems to be all the prompting the boy needs. Turning on his heels, he immediately runs outside, the guards soon disappearing after him, leaving Emma and Regina alone.

“ _Regal_ , is it?” the Queen inquires, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on her lips as she takes a step closer to Emma. “Was that the best you could come up with, Princess?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” Emma confesses, a sheepish smile on her lips, her shoulders going up and down in a shrug. And, in a show of extreme boldness, she completes, “Anything else would’ve been entirely inappropriate with a ten year-old standing right next to us.”

The Queen is quiet for a moment, her eyebrows scrunching up in thought and her lips opening and closing in a way that makes her seem entirely _non_ -regal, which only seemed for further amuse the young Princess.

Finally, after minutes have dragged on, the Queen tilts her head to the side, “Are you flirting with me, Princess?”

Emma shrugs, pulling on her best poker face and closing her hands into fists to hide their shaking, “And if I am?”

The Queen lets out a bark of laughter, “I’d say you _really_ have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, darling.”

“What if I’d like to find out?” the blonde counters, taking a step closer to Regina only to be surprised by the other woman doing the same, all but pressing their chests together, their faces only millimeters apart.

“You’d do well to remember that I _am_ the Evil Queen, Emma.”

The Princess shakes her head slowly, wisps of her hair flickering against Regina’s shoulder, their eyes locked on a powerful gaze.

“And you’d do well to remember that I don’t believe that, Regina.”

It is undoubtedly the most she’s ever pushed the other woman, and she’s well aware of that. Revealing her true identity to the Evil Queen? Beginner’s play. Challenging the brunette’s words? Piece of cake. Even trusting that Regina wouldn’t kill her had been easier than _this_.

She probably lost her mind. She’s only 18 - or _nearly_ there, anyway - and Regina should be old enough to be her grandmother. Even if, for some reason, her body remains frozen in her twenties, it doesn’t change the fact that she has years of experience ahead of Emma, in more ways than one, and most assuredly in the ways that do actually _count_. It’s silly to think that young Emma, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, heir to the White Throne, sparks even an inch of desire on the Evil Queen.

Except Emma knows that she does more than spark. If she hadn’t seen the way their bodies call to one another, she would never, ever in a million years, be doing this. But growing up means accepting her choices and the consequences of it, and at that moment, her only choice is Regina. Because being away from the Queen had been the most torturous thing Emma had ever gone through, and she was woman enough to acknowledge that it wasn’t because she’d grown so used to having Regina around.

Somewhere along the line, between portal jumps and mismatching seasons, she developed feelings for a woman that her parents hated, but still meant the world to her. She’d seen Regina kill and she’d seen Regina nurture life and she knew that even if their magic hadn’t sparked like it had on their previous encounter, she’d still be challenging everything she’d been raised to believe.

She’d still be dying to kiss Regina; dying to have plump, red lips pressed against hers.

“Have dinner with me,” the Queen blurts out, shaking Emma out of her reverie.

“I’m sorry?”

“Dinner,” Regina explains. “You and I. Alone. Later today, if you’re… available.”

“I can’t, I--” the Princess rushes out to decline, before remembering that she doesn’t actually _have_ to return to her Kingdom before night falls. Her parents won’t be back until the next day and the servants are more than used to her disappearances to to think too much of it. It’ll be hours before they even begin to wonder of her whereabouts.

Seeing that Regina’s face is already showing her disappointment, Emma is quick to amend, “Actually, I’d love to, Your Majesty.”

“Perfect,” the Queen breaths out, her spine arching and her mask slipping back in place, whatever signs of vulnerability completely gone. “Let’s head outside, shall we? I’m afraid Henry is not an incredibly patient child.”

“Yeah, sure,” Emma agrees, bouncing on the balls of her feet, barely able to contain her excitement, even if Regina is trying to act so nonchalant about the entire thing. “Let’s go.”

They don’t say anything as they walk outside, their bodies close together and their arms brushing against each other. The Princess can feel the heat emanating from the Queen, their magical connection buzzing lightly, making goosebumps run through her skin.

Biting her lip for a second, Emma considers the chances of getting away with yet another bold move. She’s not a strange to impulsive decisions, but she’s always been extremely tactful whereas Regina was concerned - first official encounter not included, of course. But after that, she’d learned to think twice before saying something and yet, on that day alone, she’d done and said more than she thought it’d have been prudent.

And she was still alive. Regina hadn’t kicked her out and banned her forever. So what was one more push, right?

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Emma pushes out her arm before she can give it another thought, offering it to the Queen. She really wanted to hold Regina’s hand, but given their experiences with that, she thinks it’s safer to play the gentlewoman.

“May I?” she asks, her voice strong and confident, not at all how she feels at the moment.

Regina’s gaze goes from Emma’s face to the arm being offered to her and then back to green eyes before the Queen allows herself to tangle their limbs together, turning her face down to hide the small smile blooming on her lips.

Emma still catches the smile anyway, and it takes everything she has in herself not to skip the rest of the way to where Henry is expecting them, halfway through the process of climbing a big apple tree.

“Henry Mills Junior!” Regina exclaims once she sees her son, her hand shifting to clutch Emma’s arm in a tight grip. “You get down from this tree right this second, young man!”

Henry immediately freezes in place, his eyes bulging from their sockets. To Emma, he looks exactly like she imagines she looked whenever her parents or castle servants would catch her doing something she wasn’t supposed to do - climbing trees being one of these things.

It’s why she’s quick to put her other hand on top of Regina’s, squeezing it lightly as she holds the other woman in place.

“Hey, relax. He’ll be fine, I promise.”

There’s a moment where they all freeze; Henry mid-climbing, one of his feet swinging as he prepares to hoist himself up; Regina ready to rush to his side and all but pluck him out of the tree like the boy is an apple itself; and Emma, trying to hold the Queen back while praying to all the gods above that Henry knows more about climbing than his mother is aware and will not, in fact, come crashing down anytime soon.

“Fine,” Regina finally relents, a heavy sigh escaping as she twists her hand and Emma realizes that the woman just cast a spell to protect her son.

Emma chuckles, “He wasn’t going to fall,” she says, watching as Henry quickly makes his way up the apple tree. “I’ve done this plenty of times myself, he seems to be a natural at it.”

“Still, Princess. He’s my son, I won’t jeopardize his safety if I can help it. Besides, this works out rather nicely, don’t you think? He can have his fun and I don’t have to worry about it.”

The blonde hums in agreement, slowly nodding her head, “How does he feel about that?”

“About what?” the Queen questions as they start weave their way through the smaller trees, the sound of Henry’s giggles accompanying them.

“Magic,” Emma explains. “ _Your_ magic, more precisely.”

“He used to love it,” Regina says, after a moment of silence. “I suppose it’s the same with every children, the concept of it. I’d conjure up some sparks and he’d be delighted to no end. But then…” she looks back at the tree, where Henry is proudly sitting at the top of it, before meeting Emma’s gaze again. “Then he found out that it isn’t all about sparkly things and cute animals. There was a time when he’d spend days without looking at me if I so much as lit a candle around him. I suppose it’s getting better now, like all other things related to me being the Evil Queen.”

“Do you think you’ll ever forgive yourself?”

It’s a loaded question and they both know it, but much to Emma’s surprise, Regina’s answer is almost immediate.

“I can’t,” she says, her voice resolute. Before Emma can cut it, she continues, “It’s not that I don’t want to, I do. In some ways, you can even say that I _have_ . But I don’t think it’s fair for me to forgive myself as if what I’ve done isn’t wrong. There’s much you don’t know Emma, much I can’t even begin to explain, but I’ve done so much… It’s not right for me to scrub that off my past. All I can do is acknowledge my mistakes and know that I’ve learned from them. I’m not looking for forgiveness or absolution, I’m looking for… _compensation_ , if that’s what you wanna call it.”

They’re back at the huge apple tree, where Henry is currently on his way down, his pockets full with the fruits he gathered, a satisfied grin on his lips.

In a swift and subtle motion, Regina has the spell removed and the boy touches down the floor with a heavy thud before making his way to where his mother has - much to Emma’s surprise - taken seat on a blanket, her posture still more regal than Emma could ever hope to be in her entire life.

“Come on, Princess,” the Queen says, a coy smile playing on her lips. “We shall continue our conversation later.”


End file.
